Markovin had means of succouring the men in prison, of receiving news from them, and of smuggling in letters to them. One of the warders who was favourably inclined towards Stundism came occasionally to his house, bringing information about them. He had been several years in the prison wards, and was trusted greatly by the authorities, as he seemed always a stupid but well-principled man. His name was Pafnutitch, and he had formerly been a soldier. He happened to look in whilst Alexis and Michael were in Markovin's room. "Look here!" he said, after giving them all the news he could. "There's poor Kondraty would give his ears to have a sight of one of you. I daren't take you, Alexis, but if Michael didn't mind running a little bit of a risk, just put his head for a moment in the jaws of the lion, I'd pass him in—ay! and out again, unless we were very unlucky. Let him bring a bag o' tools with him, and I'll say he's my sister's son learning to be a carpenter. What do you say?" "I'm ready!" cried Michael, springing eagerly to his feet. "No! No! No!" exclaimed Markovin, in terrified accents. "Not from my house. Not from here!" "Not now," said Alexis quietly. "It would be useless. We have no important news yet to send to Kondraty. But another time, Pafnutitch, I may send Michael to you." It was the first call upon his courage and sympathy, and Michael rejoiced to feel that he had not for a moment hesitated to answer it; no cowardice or indifference had made him fail. It was evening when Alexis and Michael drove slowly, with their tired horse, along the grass-grown village street of Knishi. Each cottage, built of wood or mud, stood at the back of fold-yards large or small, according to the number of sheep or cattle possessed by the owner. Only on the eastern side of the dwellings were any doors or windows to be seen, for the Oukrainian houses are built always to face the east. But though on one side of the road, the inmates looked out through their doors and windows to see who was passing, as they heard the creaking of the telega wheels, not one gave them a smile or a word of welcome. On the other side, some of the people, curious to know who was coming, peeped round the corner of the huts, but they, too, only stared and frowned. Michael felt a lump in his throat, and tears burning under his eyelids. It was not in this way he had dreamed of coming home. He had been absent only a year, and he knew all their names, and recollected their faces. Some of the women had kissed him when he went away; and the children had followed them as far as the barrier, calling farewell after them as long as they were in sight. But now the boys, his playfellows, slouched away, as if they were ashamed or afraid to recognise him, or stood and stared at him with unconcealed animosity in their manner. This was not what he had looked forward to.