The choir of schoolboys sang well, and for this reason the church was attended by merchants of the First Guild, officials and the families of landed gentry. There were only a few of the common folk--especially since, in conformity with the Head-Master's wish, Mass was celebrated there later than in other churches. Peredonov stood in his usual place, from which he could see all the members of the choir. Screwing up his eyes, he looked at them and thought that they were standing out of their places. If he had been inspector he would have pulled them up. There was, for example, a smooth-faced boy, named Kramarenko, a small, thin, fidgety youngster who was constantly turning this way and that way, whispering, smiling--and there was no one to keep him in order. It seemed to be no one's affair. "What confusion!" thought Peredonov. "These choir-boys are all good-for-nothings. That dark youngster there has a fine, clear soprano--so he thinks he can whisper and grin in church." And Peredonov frowned. At his side stood a late-comer, the inspector of the National Schools, Sergey Potapovitch Bogdanov, an oldish man with a brown, stupid face, who always looked as if he wanted to explain to somebody something which he could never make head or tail of himself. No one was easier to frighten or to astonish than Bogdanov: no sooner did he hear anything new or disquieting than his forehead would become wrinkled from his inward, painful efforts and from his mouth would issue a string of incoherent and perplexed exclamations. Peredonov bent towards him and said in a whisper: "One of your schoolmistresses walks about in a red shirt!" Bogdanov was alarmed. His white Adam's apple twitched with fear under his chin. "What do you say?" he whispered hoarsely. "Who is she?" "The loud-voiced, fat one--I don't know what her name is," whispered Peredonov. "The loud-voiced one, the loud-voiced one," repeated Bogdanov in a confused way, "that must be Skobotchkina. Yes?" "Yes, that must be the one," declared Peredonov. "Well! Good heavens! Who'd have thought that!" exclaimed Bogdanov. "Skobotchkina in a red shirt! Well! Did you see it with your own eyes?" "Yes, I saw her, and they tell me she goes into school like that. And sometimes even worse; she puts on a sarafan[1] and walks about like a common girl." "You don't say so! I must look into it! We can't have that! We can't have that! She'll have to be dismissed, dismissed, I say," babbled on Bogdanov. "She was always like that." Mass was over. As they were leaving the church, Peredonov said to Kramarenko: "Here, you whippety-snippet! Why were you grinning in church? Just wait, I shall tell your father!"