He drummed on the edge of the table with his fingers, and shifted his chair uneasily to and fro. For a moment, Ilya looked at him with a searching glance and his face expressed incredulous astonishment. The bitter, smooth running lines yet rang in his ears, and it seemed to him hardly credible that this thin beardless lad, with restless eyes, in an old cotton shirt and heavy boots, should have composed this poem. "Well, brother, I shouldn't call that silly," he said slowly and thoughtfully, while he still looked curiously at Pavel. "On the contrary, it's beautiful, it touched my heart--say it again, will you?" Pavel raised his head, looked delightedly at his listener, and coming closer, asked in a whisper, "No--really--do you like it?" "Good Lord, what a queer fellow you are. I shouldn't lie to you." "Well, I'll believe you, you're honest; you're straight, anyhow." "Say it again!" Pavel softly declaimed it in melancholy tones, often stammering and sighing deeply when his voice failed him. When he had finished, Ilya's suspicion was strengthened, that Pavel was not really the author of the verses. "And the others?" he said to Pavel. "Ah! do you know," said the other, "I'd rather bring my book to you, for most of my poems are long, and I haven't any time now. I can't remember them properly, the beginnings and ends get muddled up; there's one ends like this: I'm going through the wood at night, and I've lost my way and I'm tired--yes, and then I get frightened, it's so quiet all round. I am alone and now I'm looking for some escape from my misery and I lament: "My feet are heavy, My heart is weary, No way is clear; O Earth my mother, Guide me and tell me What course to steer. Anxious I nestle, Close to thy bosom; I listen, I peer-- And out of the dark depths Comes a soft whisper-- 'Hide thy grief here!'" "Not so bad, eh? That's the way of things. One goes, as it were, through a break in a forest, sees a light all of a sudden, then finds no way that'll lead to it. Listen, Ilya. Will you come with me? Come! I don't want to say good-bye yet." Gratschev got up suddenly, caught Ilya by the sleeve, and looked in his face in a friendly way. "I'll come," said Ilya. "I'd like some more talk with you. To tell the truth, I hardly know how to believe you made those verses yourself." "You don't believe? Doesn't matter. You'll see right enough that I did," said Pavel, as they came out into the street. "If they are your verses, then you're a fine fellow," cried Ilya, in downright bewilderment. "Only stick to it! Show people what life is really like!" "Right, brother. Once I've learnt properly how, then I'll write. They shall hear it." "Good! good! Plan it out well! Let 'em know!" "Often I think, when things are quiet, 'Ah, you people, you're full and warmly clothed, and I----'" "It's not fair." "Am I not a man too?" "We're all equal."