Even an idiot could understand. At one side of him he was confronted with death for no apparent reason at all. And on the other side of him flew his pigeons. Suddenly the signal was given; the six rifles were raised, and a volley of blank cartridges shot at the boy. The frightened birds flew into the air as the twisted frame of Silly Peter sank into the soft, upturned earth. When the smoke had cleared, a soldier came up and shouted: "Hey fool? Get up!--You're not dead." But the boy only sobbed, with his face beside the shovel in the fresh earth. The soldiers were dismissed, and the Captain climbed into his carriage and drove away. The sheep-like inhabitants of the village of M---- feared to venture near the spot of military manoeuvre. Presently an old farmer, driving his horse across the square, stopped, lifted the boy, and said: "Don't cry, Peter. It is only a little joke. See, you're not dead--here, pick up your hat. See all the pigeons are around us--you're not dead." The boy seemed numb and twisted like the limb of a tree as the old man following his horse helped him across the market-place and through the lane. "Don't be foolish, Peter. You're not dead. See the pigeons; see the sky. Look, here is Luba--she will bring us soup." But the boy squinted at the sun through a film of tears and with his one-sided mouth mumbled: "I don't want a grave." III The Captain lit a cigarette as he leaned back in the carriage. The horses snorted as they drew up the hill. "Why," he asked himself, "are people afraid of dying? For many, life can hold little attraction, yet even an imbecile fears death as though it were the devil himself. Yet each man nurses his own pet fears." The carriage rocked from side to side as it climbed the hill, and the Captain turned his mind to his young wife. "It's all imagination; that's what I think," he said to himself. "It's all in her mind. Now she's afraid of this and afraid of that, and in this way she worries herself ill. "And the doctor thinks he knows it all, but he knows nothing. He should have given her iron, she's too pale. Now we shall have to call him again. It is all a trick that doctors have. Yes, each man looks out for himself. But I will call him again and say to him: 'Don't you think a little iron would be good for her, she is so pale?' And he will reply: 'Yes, it can't harm.' But I would have to say this to the doctor when he is putting on his coat in the hallway so that Vera does not hear. "No. Vera must not hear that I think her pale. It would worry her and she might become worse. Then she would have to go to bed again, the doctor would come again, and the servants would do as they pleased. And Vera would grow worse and more nervous and--" "Here we are!" called the coachman, and the Captain stepped out upon his own lawn.