Winter had already set in, making the whole wide landscape white. The houses and barns stood out against the sky like huge heaps of snow. Every morning the street was trackless under the fresh falls that fell each night; and every evening the white surface was marked with countless footprints and furrows. All the cattle and sheep were under cover, and needed to be fed and watered every day. Michael was kept busily occupied, and Sergius came to help him as soon as his own work was done at home. The village was cut off from all intercourse with the outer world until the snow was frozen hard enough to bear the sledges. There were only two sledges in Knishi, one belonging to Okhrim and the other to the innkeeper. There was no chance of hearing news of the prisoners in Kovylsk. Father Cyril no longer checked the visits of Michael and Sergius to their little sisters in the church-house. On the contrary, he encouraged them; and the boys went often, on one pretext or another. Velia's childish heart was full of vague dreads and sharp sorrow for her father in prison, but little Clava was as gay and happy as a child can be. The Matoushka treated them exactly the same as her own children; whilst Father Cyril was, if possible, more tender and indulgent to them than to his own. He could not look at them without a feeling of the deepest pity. As a loyal servant of his Church, he did his best to place its tenets in a clear manner before Michael and Sergius, feeling persuaded they did not know or understand them. The boys listened to him attentively and respectfully. "Father Cyril," said Michael one day, "if a strong man came to your house, and dragged your sister from you, and carried your father off to a dreadful prison, could you think he was God's servant?" "No," answered Father Cyril, almost smiling. "That is what the archbishop has done," continued Michael; "he has done it both to Serge and me. You think he stands higher up in God's service than you do. We don't think so. We could never, never believe he is really serving God, for God is love." Father Cyril gave no answer. He could not tell them the archbishop was ignorant—the excuse he always made for the peasants. He looked at the two earnest, sturdy lads before him with compassionate eyes. "Be good, my boys!" he said. "Be good, and your conscience will tell you when you are disobeying God." Michael and Sergius were much together. Sergius had only one cow and a few sheep to tend, whilst Michael had many cattle and horses and a numerous flock. The boys went to and fro daily between their homes, always avoiding the village street, infested as it was by foes, and making their way along by-paths, through deep drifts of snow. The active life and frequent exposure to extreme cold hardened their bodies. "As hard as nails," Sergius declared.