“I am not abusing you; I am telling the truth,” Yozhov explained, straightening himself with animation. “Listen! Although you are a kissel, but--let it go! We’ll come up to see you on Sunday after mass.” “Come,” Smolin nodded his head. “We’ll come up. They’ll ring the bell soon. I must run to sell the siskin,” declared Yozhov, pulling out of his pocket a paper package, wherein some live thing was struggling. And he disappeared from the school-yard as mercury from the palm of a hand. “What a queer fellow he is!” said Foma, dumfounded by Yozhov’s adroitness and looking at Smolin interrogatively. “He is always like this. He’s very clever,” the red-headed boy explained. “And cheerful, too,” added Foma. “Cheerful, too,” Smolin assented. Then they became silent, looking at each other. “Will you come up with him to my house?” asked the red-headed boy. “Yes.” “Come up. It’s nice there.” Foma said nothing to this. Then Smolin asked him: “Have you many friends?” “I have none.” “Neither did I have any friends before I went to school. Only cousins. Now you’ll have two friends at once.” “Yes,” said Foma. “Are you glad?” “I’m glad.” “When you have lots of friends, it is lively. And it is easier to study, too--they prompt you.” “And are you a good pupil?” “Of course! I do everything well,” said Smolin, calmly. The bell began to bang as though it had been frightened and was hastily running somewhere. Sitting in school, Foma began to feel somewhat freer, and compared his friends with the rest of the boys. He soon learned that they both were the very best boys in school and that they were the first to attract everybody’s attention, even as the two figures 5 and 7, which had not yet been wiped off the blackboard. And Foma felt very much pleased that his friends were better than any of the other boys. They all went home from school together, but Yozhov soon turned into some narrow side street, while Smolin walked with Foma up to his very house, and, departing, said: “You see, we both go home the same way, too.” At home Foma was met with pomp: his father made him a present of a heavy silver spoon, with an ingenious monogram on it, and his aunt gave him a scarf knitted by herself. They were awaiting him for dinner, having prepared his favourite dishes for him, and as soon as he took off his coat, seated him at the table and began to ply him with questions. “Well, how was it? How did you like the school?” asked Ignat, looking lovingly at his son’s rosy, animated face. “Pretty good. It’s nice!” replied Foma. “My darling!” sighed his aunt, with feeling, “look out, hold your own with your friends. As soon as they offend you tell your teachers about it.” “Go on. What else will you tell him?” Ignat smiled. “Never do that! Try to get square with every offender yourself, punish him with your own hand, not with somebody else’s. Are there any good fellows there?” “There are two,” Foma smiled, recalling Yozhov. “One of them is so bold--terrible!”