"MY little son, Sergey, what means this? Thou hast a face on thee as long as my axe-handle! Is there any fresh trouble, child?"
"Ach, yes, Matvey Philipitch, and a very strange trouble it is, God knows! And with a secret to it, too, worse luck; for methinks there is danger for me, whether I find it out or no."
"A secret, my boy? A new trouble? And surely thou hadst enough before. But tell it out to me, so shalt thou rid thy poor little heart of a part, at least, of its burden."
"Have you time, little father, to listen now? I would fain tell my story at once, for I think I cannot bear it any longer alone."
"Yes, I have time," replied Matvey. "But here in the wood is no place for confidences, where thine Uncle Abram might be hiding, and spying, and listening, as his wont is, behind the pines. Come back with me to my home, and my good wife and I will consult with thee how best to help thee in thy trouble."
Sergey followed Matvey farther into the forest, and came, after five minutes' walk, to a solidly built house. It was made of whole pine-tree trunks, the cracks being filled up with tarred tow.
The hut was one of a number scattered about among the trees, for this was a village of wood cutters and raftsmen. But Matvey was the foreman and paymaster, and in virtue of this, his cottage contained two rooms instead of only the solitary apartment which was kitchen, bedroom, and sitting-room, all in one, in the other dwellings.
Matvey was a man in the prime of life, and far better educated, and more intelligent, than the ordinary peasants. Sensible, honest, and reliable, he had the full confidence of his employer, and managed the wood-cutting in the winter, and the raft-making and launching in the spring, when the rivers opened their icy eyelids, and the snows, melting, swelled the flow and quickened the sluggish currents.
Matvey Philipitch Strogoff could not only read and write and keep correct accounts for his master, but he had learned to love his Bible, and daily he studied it, poring thoughtfully over its precious truths, till they bore fruit in his humble, consistent, upright, Christian life, and he became an influence for good in the wild forest where his work lay.
His wife, Christina Ivanovna, was his true helpmeet. And now, as Matvey and the boy Sergey entered the hut, Christina welcomed her young visitor very kindly. For well she knew what a miserable life he led with his uncle, Abram Kapoostin, ever since his parents' death from cholera two years ago.
Of late, too, Abram's conduct had been so strange, and he had neglected his duty so often, disappearing no one knew how, or whither, for twenty-four hours at a time, that the foreman had almost made up his mind to dismiss him. So Christina was not altogether unprepared for a crisis in the affairs of Sergey and his uncle, and was not surprised when her husband said—
"Christina, little dove mine, this poor child is in trouble again, and is come to tell us all about it. Now, Sergey, sit down here and tell thy story, keeping nothing back, so shall we know how to advise and help thee."
So the boy began his tale as follows, while Matvey and his wife listened intently—
"As you well know, kind friends, things have grown worse of late. You have seen that my uncle's heart was not in his work, and often he slipped away, and no one knew where he went or what he did. Nor know I even now. But a strange thing happened last night. My uncle came home drunk, and I awoke with the noise he made, and turning over, I watched him.
"Presently I saw him take from his big boot a little leather bag, and lay it on the table. Then there was a chink! chink! a ring of metal, a flash, and a sparkle, and something rolled off the table, and away into a dark corner at the foot of my bed. But Uncle Abram was too drunk to notice this. He sat there muttering to himself, and lifting a lot of bright things in his hands, and letting them drop, as though he liked the look and the sound of the golden shower. But after a short time he seemed to grow sleepy, and putting the jewels back into the bag, and the bag into his belt, he threw himself, just as he was, upon his bed, and in two minutes was snoring hard.
"But this morning, while we were drinking tea, he suddenly said to me, 'Sergey, did I wake thee when I came in last night?'"
"That was a hard question, little son," commented Matvey. "How didst thou answer?"
"I knew it was a sin to lie," replied the boy; "you have taught me that the children of God must be true in all things. So I took my poor little courage in both hands, and looking my uncle in the face, I said:
"'Yes, you waked me.'
"Then his face grew black with rage, and he shouted, 'And if awake, what didst thou see or hear?'
"'And pray,' said I, 'what should I see or hear?'
"And it was given me to speak quietly and almost carelessly, though my heart beat like your big clock, Matvey Philipitch.
"And I added, 'You know, uncle, you were very drunk, as you often are.'
"'Yes, yes, as I often am!' he cried, his anger seeming to calm down suddenly. 'That is nothing; that is no secret, is it?' And again he looked at me as if he would read my thoughts.
"'No,' I answered, 'certainly it is no secret that you are often drunk. The whole village knows that.'
"Then he got up to go out, but turned at the door. 'I like not thy face, nor thy manner this morning, Sergey,' he said. 'See that thou change both, or I will make thee rue it.' And with that he was gone.
"And then I ran to the corner whither the bright thing had rolled, and there, in the dark and the dust, I found, shining like a little red lamp, this!"
And opening his hand, he showed in the hollow of the palm, a br massive gold ring, in which was set one great ruby, with a wonderful light deep down in its heart.
Matvey took it up, and read, engraved on the inner side:
"'Yevgen to Elena.'"
"Strange!" said Matvey. "How came thine uncle, I wonder, by such a jewel as this? It must be of great value."
"I know not," replied the boy, "but therein, I am sure, lies a wicked secret, and the thought makes me unhappy. Moreover, he is sure to miss it when he comes to look over the rest of the trinkets, and he will question me, and I must speak the truth, and then he will kill me."
"Kill thee, child? No, that shall he not," exclaimed Matvey. "But if thou fear to go home to-night, thou canst stay here, and to-morrow I will make a plan to rescue thee, little son, from the fear and the thrall of this ungodly man. And as for this red stone ring, shall I keep it for the present and lock it up?"
"Yes, please do, Matvey Philipitch, and so one day we may learn to whom it belongs."
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