I was not hurt, but I felt deeply insulted, especially by grandfather's laughter. He jumped on a chair, slapped his legs with his hands, and croaked through his laughter: "Th-a-t's right! Tha-a-t's right!" I tore myself away, and ran out to the shed, where I lay in a corner crushed, desolate, listening to the singing of the samovar. Then grandmother came to me, bent over me, and whispered hardly audibly: "You must forgive me, for I purposely did not hurt you. I could not do otherwise than I did, for grandfather is an old man. He has to be treated with care. He has fractured some of his small bones, and, besides, sorrow has eaten into his heart. You must never do him any harm. You are not a little boy now. You must remember that. You must, Olesha! He is like a child, and nothing more." Her words laved me like warm water. That friendly whisper made me feel ashamed of myself, and, light-hearted, I embraced her warmly. We kissed. "Go to him. Go along. It is all right, only don't smoke before him yet. Give him time to get used to the idea." I went back to the room, glanced at grandfather, and could hardly keep from laughing. He really was as pleased as a child. He was radiant, twisting his feet, and running his paws through his red hair as he sat by the table. "Well, goat, have you come to butt me again? Ach, you--brigand! Just like your father! Freemason! You come back home, never cross yourself; and start smoking at once. Ugh, you--Bonaparte! you copeck's worth of goods!" I said nothing. He had exhausted his supply of words and was silent from fatigue. But at tea he began to lecture me. "The fear of God is necessary to men; it is like a bridle to a horse. We have no friend except God. Man is a cruel enemy to man." That men were my enemies, I felt was the truth, but the rest did not interest me. "Now you will go back to Aunt Matrena, and in the spring you can go on a steamboat again. Live with them during the winter. And you need not tell them that you are leaving in the spring." "Now, why should he deceive people?" said grandmother, who had just deceived grandfather by pretending to give me a beating. "It is impossible to live without deceit," declared grandfather. "Just tell me now. Who lives without deceiving others?" In the evening, while grandfather was reading his office, grandmother and I went out through the gate into the fields. The little cottage with two windows in which grandfather lived was on the outskirts of the town, at the back of Kanatni Street, where grandfather had once had his own house. "So here we are again!" said grandmother, laughing. "The old man cannot find a resting-place for his soul, but must be ever on the move. And he does not even like it here; but I do."