"But I'm not going away for altogether," cried Ilya, crossly. Masha came in herself at this point. She stood by the door, looked at Ilya, and said sorrowfully:---- "Good-bye, Ilya" Ilya tugged at his jacket, got into it somehow, and swore. Masha and Jakov both sighed deeply. "Come and see us soon." "All right, all right!" answered Ilya, crossly. "See how he begins to stick it on--mister shopman!" remarked Masha. "Oh you silly goose!" answered Ilya, softly and reproachfully. Two minutes later he was going along the street beside Petrusha, who was dressed in his best clothes, with a long overcoat and creaking boots. "I'm taking you to a most worthy man, that all the town respects," said Petrusha, in an impressive tone, "to Kiril Ivanitch Strogany. He has been decorated and all sorts of things for his goodness and his benevolence; he is on the Town Council, and may be chosen Burgomaster. Serve him well and properly, and he may do something for you. You're a serious lad, and not a spoiled darling, and for him to do anyone a good turn's as easy as spitting." Ilya listened, and tried to picture the merchant Strogany. He imagined in an odd way that he must be like Jeremy, as withered up and as good-hearted and sociable. But when he reached the fish-shop, he saw behind the desk a tall man with a big belly. There was not a single hair on his head, but from his eyes to his neck, his face was covered with a thick red beard. His eyebrows too, were red and thick, and from underneath them a pair of little greenish eyes looked angrily round about. "Bow to him," whispered Petrusha to Ilya, indicating the red-bearded man with his eyes. Disillusioned, Ilya let his head sink on his breast. "What's his name?" a deep bass voice boomed through the shop. "He's called Ilya," answered Petrusha. "Well, Ilya, open your eyes and listen to me. From now, there's no one in the world for you but your employer--no relations, no friends, d'you see? I'm your father and mother--and that's all I've got to say to you." Ilya's eyes wandered furtively about the shop. Huge sturgeons and shad were in baskets with ice, against the walls; on shelves were piled up dried perch and carp, and everywhere gleamed small tin boxes. A penetrating reek of brine filled the air, and all was stuffy and close and damp in the shop. In great tubs on the floor swam the live fish, slowly and noiselessly--sterlet, eel-pout, perch, and tench. In one a little pike dashed angrily and quickly through the water, hustling the other fish, and splashing water on to the ground with great strokes of its tail. Ilya felt sorry for the poor thing. One of the shopmen, a little fat man, with round eyes and a hooked nose, very like an owl, told Ilya to take the dead fish out of the tubs. The lad tucked up his sleeve and plunged his arm carefully into the water.