The day following the quarrel, Iakov went off with a party to fish thirty miles out at sea. He returned alone five days later for provisions. It was midday when he arrived, and everyone was resting after dinner. It was unbearably hot. The sand burned his feet and the shells and fish bones pricked them. As Iakov carefully picked his way along the beach he regretted he had no boots on. He did not want to return to the bark as he was in a hurry to eat and to see Malva. Many a time had he thought of her during the long lonely hours on the sea. He wondered if she and his father had seen each other again and what they had said. Perhaps the old man had beaten her. The deserted fisheries were slumbering, as if overcome by the heat. In the inspector's office a child was crying. From behind a heap of barrels came the sound of voices. Iakov turned his steps in that direction. He thought he recognised Malva's voice, but when he arrived at the barrels he recoiled a step and stopped. In the shade, lying on his back, with his arms under his head, was Serejka. Near him were, on one side, Vassili and, on the other, Malva. Iakov thought to himself: "Why is father here. Has he left his post so as to be nearer Malva and to watch her? Should he go up to them or not." "So, you've decided!" said Serejka to Vassili. "It's goodbye to us all? Well, go your way and scratch the soil." A thrill went through Iakov and he made a joyous grimace. "Yes, I'm going;" said Vassili. Then Iakov advanced boldly. "Good-day, all!" The father gave him a rapid glance and then turned away his eyes. Malva did not stir. Serejka moved his leg and raising his voice said: "Here's our dearly beloved son, Iakov, back from a distant shore." Then he added in his ordinary voice: "You should flay him alive and make drums with his skin." Malva laughed. "It's hot," said Iakov, sitting beside them. "I've been waiting for you since this morning, Iakov. The inspector told me you were coming." The young man thought his voice seemed weaker than usual and his face seemed changed. He asked Serejka for a cigarette. "I have no tobacco for an imbecile like you," replied the latter, without stirring. "I'm going back home, Iakov," said Vassili, gravely digging into the sand with his fingers. "Why," asked the son, innocently. "Never mind why, shall you stay?" "Yes. I'll remain. What should we both do at home?" "Very well. I have nothing to say. Do as you please. You are no longer a child. Only remember that I shall not get about long. I shall live, perhaps, but I do not know how long I shall work. I have lost the habit of the soil. Remember, too, that your mother is there." Evidently it was difficult for him to talk. The words stuck between his teeth. He stroked his beard and his hand trembled.