He lay watching all that went on around him with the quiet alertness of one deeply interested in his fellows and rejoicing once more in the exercise of faculties long barred. There was a thoughtful keenness in his scrutiny, as though he were endeavouring to weigh each man in his mind and to classify him according to his past. His aspect was that of the student come suddenly into possession of a library bearing specially on his own chosen study. Not far from him a group of his fellow prisoners was intently wasting its meagre substance by means of a couple of dice, which, for want of a box, they shook in their balled hands. One of them had chains on his wrists as well as on his feet. When his turn came the rhythmic jingle of his fetters was like a ghostly chorus to his play. Their stakes were scraps of food and morsels of brick tea. A cheerful-looking little man pushing a barrow came along and stood near Pavlof to watch the gaming. He was past middle age and very uncouth and shaggy, but his face was the most cheerful Pavlof had yet seen. When he took off his flat cap Pavlof saw that his head was shaved bare on one side, by which he knew that he was a penal colonist, and the odd little fellow took off his cap and ran his hand over his head every few minutes as though he had not yet got used to that style of hair-cutting. Whenever he moved the barrow, to which he was attached with an iron chain, the wheel squeaked monotonously. "Ey, ey!" he said, with a knowing shake of the head at Pavlof. "It passes the time, but it's foolishness all the same, for if you lose you starve." "Yes," nodded Pavlof. "The stakes are bigger than they look. Can't you stop that wheel of yours from squeaking so?" "No, barin, I can't," said the odd little fellow, with an evident desire to be obliging if he could. "I've given it all the fat I can spare, but it squeaks all the same. The dust and the mud have got into its throat, I expect. So now I eat the fat and let it squeak. You get used to it in time. It's rather a pleasant squeak, don't you think?" "I've not got used to it yet. How far have you brought it?" "Over fifteen hundred miles, barin. From down Orenburg way," and the little old man sat down on his barrow quite ready for a chat. "You must be pretty tired of it by this time." "Yes, and no, barin. You can get used to any thing in time, and I do believe I'd miss it now if they took it away. It's a bit in the way at nights sometimes, when I forget it's there, but I talk to it as we go along and it always says 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' to everything I say, and that's a change for the better anyway." "How's that?" asked Pavlof, amused at the old fellow's simple chatter and manner.