"How old you look--and where is Mashutka?" "She's gone to the almshouse for some things. I can't help her much now, father keeps too sharp a look out, and Perfishka is ill all the time, so she has to go to the almshouse. They give away cabbage soup there and that sort of thing. Matiza helps her a bit, but it's hard lines for her, poor Masha!" "It's dull here--with you--too," said Ilya, thoughtfully. "Is it dull in business?" "Frightfully. You've got books at least, and in our whole house there's only one book, the 'Book of Newest Magic and Jugglery,' and the shopman keeps that in his box; and what d'you think, the beast won't let me have it. I hate him. Ah, my lad, it's a beastly life for both of us, isn't it?" "Looks like it!" They chatted a while and parted, both very sad and thoughtful. Another fortnight passed in this same way, when suddenly there came a sharp turning in the course of Ilya's life. One morning, while business was proceeding in a lively manner, the chief suddenly began to look for something in his desk very eagerly. An angry red covered his forehead, and the veins of his neck swelled up. "Ilya," he shouted, "come and look here on the floor, if you can't find a ten-rouble piece!" Ilya looked at his master, then glanced quickly over the floor, and said quietly: "No, there's nothing." "I tell you, look--look properly!" growled his employer, in his harsh bass voice. "I have looked already." "Ah, ah! Wait a bit, you impudent rascal!" And as soon as the customers were gone he called Ilya, seized the boy's ear in his strong fat fingers and twisted it, snarling in his harsh voice, "When you're told to look, look! When you're told to look, look!" Ilya pressed with both hands against his master's body, released his ear from the fingers, and cried loudly and angrily, his whole frame quivering with excitement: "Why do you bully me? Michael stole the money. Yes, he did. It's in his left waistcoat pocket." The owl face of the shopman suddenly lengthened; he looked very disturbed, and began to tremble. Then suddenly he let out with his right arm, and struck Ilya on the ear. The boy sprang suddenly up, fell to the ground with a loud groan, and crying, crept on all fours into a corner of the shop. As one in a dream, he heard the threatening voice of his master:---- "Stay, there, give up that money!" "It's a lie," squeaked the shopman. "Come here!" "I swear--I----" "I'll throw the weight at your head!" "Kiril Ivanitch, it's my own money, may God strike me dead if it isn't." "Hold your tongue!" Then silence. The chief went to his room, and from there came at once the loud rattle of the balls on the counting frame. Ilya sat on the floor, holding his head, and looking with hatred at the shopman, who stood in another corner of the shop, and on his side, cast threatening looks at the boy. "Ah, you vagabond, shall I give you any more?" he asked in a low voice, showing his teeth.