He then related how he “worked” at burglary, pocket-picking, or petty thefts, each as occasion served. “Of course,” he observed, “sometimes you have a bit of bad luck and get caught. Then off you go to Siberia, and have to begin all over again. I expect I shall go on all my life ringing the changes on Europe and Asia,” he concluded, with perfect composure. I realised from the narrations of this man and other criminals the astonishing numbers belonging to this vagabond class. It is generally recruited from the ranks of those condemned to transportation for the less serious offences; but some among its members have been sentenced to penal servitude, and have then “swopped.” As soon as the sun of spring shines out, not one of them remains at his place of exile; they all manage to get away and make for European Russia. They usually choose byways and tracks known only to themselves through the _taigà_ or primeval forest, but occasionally they wander quite calmly along the great Moscow high road—until the completion of the railway the only regular way of transit between Eastern Siberia and Europe. We ourselves often met these tramps on the road, travelling in couples or in quite considerable bands. They came along in their prison clothes, a bundle and a small kettle on their backs; always skirting the edge of the forest, so as to vanish within its recesses if need be. At sight of our party they would stop for a chat with the convicts, among whom they often found old acquaintances. The officers and soldiers seemed not to trouble their heads about them in the slightest degree. “Where are you off to?” the officer of our convoy once asked, when some tramps saluted him, cap in hand. “Your Excellency knows; we’re going to the Government’s lodgings,” the rogues replied, grinning. “Oh, get along with you, then, in God’s name!” the officer laughed; and then told us that he had escorted this very lot into exile a few months back. “Government lodgings” was the recognised euphemism for prison, and it was perfectly true that most of these vagabonds would find their way back there soon enough; by autumn hardly a man of them would be still at large. Meanwhile they begged their way along. The Siberian natives were liberal in almsgiving; partly from obedience to their religion, which enjoins charitable deeds, but not a little from fear, as, if refused, these tramps are not slow in revenging themselves. In many places there was a regular custom of putting out food on the window-sill at night—a bowl of thickened milk, a piece of bread, or some curd-cheese. The peasants would even leave open the door of the bath-house (generally placed at a little distance from the other houses), that the wanderers might find shelter. They were admitted very unwillingly to the dwelling-houses, from a not unjustifiable mistrust of their conduct; and that reminds me of the following episode.