About noon the uncle made Yevsey bid farewell to their hosts, and taking him firmly by the hand led him to the city. They walked for a long time. It was sultry. Often they asked the passersby how to get to the Circle. Yevsey regarded everything with his owl-like eyes, pressing close up to his uncle. The doors of shops slammed, pulleys squeaked, carriages rattled, wagons rumbled heavily, traders shouted, and feet scraped and tramped. All these sounds jumbled together were tangled up in the stifling dusty atmosphere. The people walked quickly, and hurried across the streets under the horses' noses as if afraid of being too late for something. The bustle tired the boy's eyes. Now and then he closed them, whereupon he would stumble and say to his uncle: "Come, faster!" Yevsey wanted to get to some place in a corner where it was not so stirring, not so noisy and hot. Finally they reached a little open place hemmed in by a narrow circle of old houses, which seemed to support one another solidly and firmly. In the center of the Circle was a fountain about which moist shadows hovered on the soil. It was more tranquil here, and the noise was subdued. "Look," said Yevsey, "there are only houses and no ground around them at all." The blacksmith answered with a sigh: "It's pretty crowded. Read the signs. Where is Raspopov's shop?" They walked to the center of the Circle, and stopped at the fountain. There were many signs, which covered every house like the motley patches of a beggar's coat. When Yevsey saw the name his uncle had mentioned, a chill shiver ran through his body, and he examined it carefully without saying anything. It was small and eaten by rust, and was placed on the door of a dark basement. On either side the door there was an area between the pavement and the house, which was fenced in by a low iron railing. The house, a dirty yellow with peeling plaster, was narrow with four stories and three windows to each floor. It looked blind as a mole, crafty, and uncozy. "Well," asked the smith, "can't you see the sign?" "There it is," said the boy, indicating the place with a nod of his head. "Let's cross ourselves and go." They descended to the door at the bottom of five stone steps. The blacksmith raised his cap from his head, and looked cautiously into the shop. "Come in," said a clear voice. The master, wearing a black silk cap without a visor, was sitting at a table by the window drinking tea. "Take a chair, peasant, and have some tea. Boy, fetch a glass from the shelf." The master pointed to the other end of the shop. Yevsey looked in the same direction, but saw no boy there. The master turned toward him. "Well, what's the matter? Aren't you the boy?" "He's not used to it yet," said Uncle Piotr quietly. The old man again waved his hand. "The second shelf on the right. A master must be understood when he says only half. That's the rule."