"But for that matter," he continued, "Mishka has brains enough for two. He has read very much. You wait till he forgets himself. The factory priest called him 'an arch heretic.' Too bad his head is not clear about God. That comes from his mother. My sister was a very distinguished woman in religious matters. From Orthodox she went over to the Old Believers, but the Old Believers did not admit her." As he spoke he got ready to go to work. He walked from one corner of the room to the other. Everything about him shook. The chairs fell and the floor bent under him as he walked. He was funny, yet pleasant to look upon. "What kind of people are they?" I thought. Then I said aloud: "Can I remain with you three days?" "Go ahead," he said; "three months if you wish. You are a strange fellow. You are not in our way, thank God." Then he scratched his head and smiled apologetically. "The word God always comes to my mouth. It is from habit." Again the factory whistle blew, and the uncle went away. I went to sleep in the shed. Mikhail lay there. He was frowning sternly, and his hands were on his breast, his face was flushed. He was beardless and without mustache, his cheekbones were high; in fact, he was all bones. "What kind of people are they?" And with this thought I fell asleep. CHAPTER XXII I awoke. There was noise, whistling, hubbub, as if at a meeting of all the devils. I looked out into the court. It was full of youngsters and Mikhail was among them, in a white shirt, looking like a sailboat among small canoes. He stood laughing with his head on one side, his mouth wide open and his eyes twinkling. He in no way resembled the serious Lenten young man of the night before. The children were dressed in blue, red and pink. They shone in the sun as they jumped and shouted. Something drew me toward them and I crawled out from the shed. One youngster noticed me and cried out: "Look, fellows, here is a mo-onk!" Like fire that had been set to a heap of dry shavings, so the children jumped, wheeled about, looked at me and began to dance up and down. "Wha-at a red one!" "And such a hairy one, too!" "He'll bite you!" "Oh, don't tease him; he's strong." "He's not a monk. He's a bell-tower." "Mikhail Ivanich, who is he?" The teacher became somewhat embarrassed, and they, the little devils, laughed. I did not know why I struck them as funny, but I caught the spirit from them, smiled and cried to them: "Stop it, you mice!" The sun was shining, a gay noise filled the air and everything about us fluttered and floated with it, blinding me with its light and wrapping me in its warmth. Mikhail greeted me and shook my hand. "We are going to the wood," he said. "Do you want to come along?" It was a pleasant sight. There was one fat youngster who snatched my cap, put it on his head and flew about the courtyard like a butterfly. I went to the wood with this band of madcaps, and the day remains engraven on my memory.