The boy straightened his neck and quickly mumbled closing his eyes: "Little uncle, I shall always obey you. I don't need beatings." His eyes grew dim, his heart sank within him. "Come here." The old man seated himself resting his hands on his knees. He removed his cap and wiped his bald spot with his handkerchief. His spectacles slid to the end of his nose, and he looked over them at Yevsey. Now he seemed to have two pairs of eyes. The real eyes were small, immobile, and dark grey with red lids. Without the glasses the master's face looked thinner, more wrinkled, and less stern. In fact it wore an injured and downcast expression, and there was nothing in the least formidable in his eyes. The bump over his forehead got larger. "Have you been beaten often?" "Yes, sir, often." "Who beat you?" "The boys." "Oh!" The master drew his glasses close to his eyes and mumbled his lips. "The boys are scrappers here, too," he said. "Don't have anything to do with them, do you hear?" "Yes, sir." "Be on your guard against them. They are impudent rascals and thieves. I want you to know I am not going to teach you anything bad. Don't be afraid of me. I am a good man. You ought to get to love me. You will love me. You'll have it very good with me, you understand?" "Yes, sir. I will." The master's face assumed its former expression. He rose, and taking Yevsey by the hand led him to the further end of the shop. "Here's work for you. You see these books? On every book the date is marked. There are twelve books to each year. Arrange them in order. How are you going to do it?" Yevsey thought a while, and answered timidly: "I don't know." "Well, I am not going to tell you. You can read and you ought to be able to find out by yourself. Go, get to work." The old man's dry even voice seemed to lash Yevsey, driving away the melancholy feeling of separation from his uncle and replacing it with the anxious desire to begin to work quickly. Restraining his tears the boy rapidly and quietly untied the packages. Each time a book dropped to the floor with a thud he started and looked around. The master was sitting at the table writing with a pen that scratched slightly. As the people hastened past the door, their feet flashed and their shadows jerked across the shop. Tears rolled from Yevsey's eyes one after the other. In fear lest they be detected he hurriedly wiped them from his face with dusty hands, and full of a vague dread went tensely at his work of sorting the books.