The little wife looked out into the darkness with fear-filled eyes. There were spies even there in that little village on the Beresina, and it was dangerous to say words that might be construed into a reflection on the Government. But she answered Ivan. She stooped and whispered one word into his ear, and he slapped his thigh with his big hand. “Ay,” he cried. “That is what we want! You and I and millions like us want it, and over there, Anna, over there we will get it. It is the country where a muzhik is as good as a prince of the blood!” Anna stood up, took a small earthenware jar from a side shelf, dusted it carefully and placed it upon the mantel. From a knotted cloth about her neck she took a ruble and dropped the coin into the jar. Big Ivan looked at her curiously. “It is to make legs for your Dream,” she explained. “It is many versts to America, and one rides on rubles.” “You are a good wife,” he said. “I was afraid that you might laugh at me.” “It is a great dream,” she murmured. “Come, we will go to sleep.” The Dream maddened Ivan during the days that followed. It pounded within his brain as he followed the plow. It bred a discontent that made him hate the little village, the swift-flowing Beresina and the gray stretches that ran toward Mogilev. He wanted to be moving, but Anna had said that one rode on rubles, and rubles were hard to find. And in some mysterious way the village became aware of the secret. Donkov, the tailor, discovered it. Donkov lived in one-half of the cottage occupied by Ivan and Anna, and Donkov had long ears. The tailor spread the news, and Poborino, the smith, and Yanansk, the baker, would jeer at Ivan as he passed. “When are you going to America?” they would ask. “Soon,” Ivan would answer. “Take us with you!” they would cry in chorus. “It is no place for cowards,” Ivan would answer. “It is a long way, and only brave men can make the journey.” “Are you brave?” the baker screamed one day as he went by. “I am brave enough to want liberty!” cried Ivan angrily. “I am brave enough to want——” “Be careful! Be careful!” interrupted the smith. “A long tongue has given many a man a train journey that he never expected.” That night Ivan and Anna counted the rubles in the earthenware pot. The giant looked down at his wife with a gloomy face, but she smiled and patted his hand. “It is slow work,” he said. “We must be patient,” she answered. “You have the Dream.” “Ay,” he said. “I have the Dream.” Through the hot, languorous summertime the Dream grew within the brain of Big Ivan. He saw visions in the smoky haze that hung above the Beresina. At times he would stand, hoe in hand, and look toward the west, the wonderful west into which the sun slipped down each evening like a coin dropped from the fingers of the dying day.