"Customers are fools," said the shopman forcibly to me. "They don't mind where they buy, so long as it is cheap, and they do not understand the value of the goods." Lightly tapping the wooden surface of an icon, he aired his slight knowledge of the business to me. He instructed me: "This is a clever piece of work--very cheap--three or four vershoks--stands by itself. Here is another--six or seven vershoks--stands by itself. Do you know about the saints? Remember Boniface is a protection against drink; Vvaara, the great martyr, against toothache and death by accident; Blessed Vassili, against fevers. Do you know all about Our Lady? Look! This is Our Lady of Sorrows, and Our Lady of Abalak, Most Renowned. Do not weep for me, Mother. Assuage my griefs. Our lady of Kazan, of Pokrove; Our Lady of Seven Dolors." I soon remembered the prices of the icons, according to their size and the work on them, and learned to distinguish between the different images of Our Lady. But to remember the significations of the various saints was difficult. Sometimes I would be standing at the door of the shop, dreaming, when the shopman would suddenly test my knowledge. "Who is the deliverer from painful childbirth?" If I answered wrongly, he would ask scornfully: "What is the use of your head?" Harder still was it for me to tout for customers. The hideously painted icons did not please me at all, and I did not like having to sell them. According to grandmother's stories, I had imagined Our Lady as young, beautiful, and good, just as she was in pictures. in the magazines, but the icons represented her as old and severe, with a long crooked nose, and wooden hands. On market days, Wednesdays and Fridays, business was brisk. Peasants, old women, and sometimes whole families together, appeared on the terrace,--all old Ritualists from Zavoljia, suspicious and surly people of the forests. I would see, perhaps, coming along slowly, almostly timidly, across the gallery, a ponderous man wrapped in sheepskin and thick, homemade cloth, and I would feel awkward and ashamed at having to accost him. At last by a great effort I managed to intercept him, and revolving about his feet in their heavy boots, I chanted in a constrained, buzzing voice: "What can we do for you, your honor? We have psalters with notes and comments, the books of Ephrem Siren, Kyrillov, and all the canonical books and breviaries. Please come and look at them. All kinds of icons, whatever you want, at various prices. Only the best work,--dark colors! We take orders, too, if you wish it, for all kinds of saints and madonnas. Perhaps you would like to order something for a Name Day, or for your family? This is the best workshop in Russia! Here are the best goods in the town!"