The barn in which we were going to live was filled with rubbish, and had never been cleaned. I applied myself industriously to making it habitable. It was not an easy task, but I finally succeeded. We received a gift of one hundred roubles from Yasha’s parents, and decided to establish a butcher’s shop of our own. We got some lumber and built a small shop. Then Yasha bought three cows and the two of us led them to the slaughter-house, where I learned how to butcher. Yasha ran the shop. I was the first woman butcher in that neighbourhood. One summer day, while walking in the street, I saw some boys peddling ice-cream. I had learned how to make ice-cream during my apprenticeship with Nastasia Leontievna. It occurred to me that I could make ice-cream and sell it. Finding out from the boys how much they paid for it, I offered them better cream at a lower price and asked them to come for it the next day. I immediately returned home and bought milk from Yasha’s mother, who offered to give it to me without payment upon learning the purpose for which it was intended. The ice-cream I prepared was, happily, very good, and it sold quickly. During the summer I earned two or three roubles daily by this means. I led a life of peaceful industry with Yasha for about three years. Every morning I would get up at six o’clock and go with him to the slaughter-house. Then all day I would spend at home. There were always many poor people, mostly women and children, stranded in our town, which was the junction of a railway and river route. They would wander about the streets, begging for bread and shelter. The greater number of them would land in our barn-home. At times they would fill it completely, sleeping in rows on the floor. Frequently they were ill. I fed them, washed them, and looked after their children. Yasha would often remonstrate with me for working so incessantly and so hard. But I had my reward in the gratitude and blessings these women bestowed upon me. There was joy in being able to serve. In addition, I sent regularly to my mother ten roubles (about £1 1_s._) a month. Yasha taught me in leisure moments how to read. My name became a household word in the neighbourhood. Wherever I went I was blessed. “There goes Buk-Botchkareva!” people would point at me, whispering. Yasha’s parents also grew very attached to me. It all ended one evening in May, 1912. There was a peculiar knock at the door, and Yasha went out to admit a man of about thirty, well dressed, with a beard and pince-nez, of distinguished appearance. He was pale and showed signs of agitation. He stood with Yasha in the passage-way for ten minutes, talking in a whisper. He was then introduced to me as an old friend of Yasha’s. He had escaped from prison and it was our task to hide him, as his capture would mean his death. The unexpected guest was no less a person than the revolutionary who was responsible for the death of a notorious Governor of Siberia.