"That is the chief point," pursued Alexis, "but to revolt would be utter madness. It would mean our extermination. Scotland is a small country, and the Covenanters could easily band together. Besides, the people were mostly in their favour. But Russia is vast, and the people are our enemies, and will be as long as superstition and drink have the upper hand. Here in Knishi, with nearly a hundred parishioners—that is, heads of families—only nine of us are Stundists. Our nearest sister church is in Kovylsk, a day's journey from us; there are some thousands of inhabitants, and not more than a hundred brethren who are quite sound in the faith. Our little churches are feeble in themselves, and lie miles apart. Truly, if we took the sword, we should quickly perish with the sword. We could not combine for resistance; we can only do so for mutual sympathy and help. No, my boy, it is God's will, and we must submit to it." The Russian people, like all Eastern nations, are fatalists; and Alexis Ivanoff was not without this strain in his temperament. There is an element of peace in it, but not much element of progress. Boy as he was, Michael chafed against it with all the love of freedom, and a desire to strike a blow for it, which he had inherited from his Scottish ancestors. God's will was ever for the right, and this persecution was wrong. The children over ten years of age were suffering in many ways, besides having their younger brothers and sisters ruthlessly separated from them. They could not pass along the village street, or drive their parents' oxen to water at the village well, without having stones or clods thrown at them. If they went out in numbers for mutual protection, the Orthodox children formed bands which lay in ambush to attack them. At a lonely cottage, left in charge of two girls whilst their parents were working in the communal lands, the door was locked, and the young persecutors gathered a quantity of reeds and ill-smelling weeds, and set fire to them under the unglazed window, until the noisome smoke almost suffocated the terrified girls. It was useless to complain to the Starosta, and Father Cyril found himself powerless to prevent such outrages. The women dared not send their girls to the shop; and only big boys like Michael and Sergius could water the cattle, or fill the buckets for home use. They did it under a constant shower of abuse, occasionally accompanied by skilfully aimed missiles. But on the whole the village boys were afraid of Michael.