AS the good foreman and his wife, with their young guest, sat round the table next morning, drinking their tea out of tumblers, in true Russian fashion, the door was rudely pushed open, and Abram Kapoostin stood there, glowering at the cosy little group beside the warm stove.
"Pray, what is the reason of this?" he said, his thick voice rough with anger. "I have been seeking my scoundrel of a nephew all through the wood, and now, forsooth, I find him here. What business have you, Matvey Philipitch, to entice away Sergey from his uncle and guardian?"
"He did not entice me," Sergey began to say, but the foreman silenced him with a gesture, and answered Abram himself.
"There has been—there could be—no enticing. The boy was frightened and unhappy, and so came to us, his friends, for comfort and protection; aye, and he shall have both, in spite of thee, Abram Kapoostin."
The man made no reply, but glared at Sergey from under frowning brows. The foreman went on—
"Some time ago, Abram, I said plainly to thee that I could not suffer thy frequent absences from work, and that if I had to speak again, I should feel it my duty to dismiss thee."
"Me? Dismiss me?" growled Abram. "Dismiss the best axe in the gang?"
"It is true thou art the best axe—the best workman when thou dost so choose," replied Matvey quietly. "But more often thou dost not choose. And no one knows what business other than the woodcraft claims thy time, and keeps thee from thy duty. And moreover, Abram, thou canst not deny that even when thou art here, the village kabak (dram-shop) is haunted by thee, and most of thy wage is spent on that devil's-fire drink that we call vodki. Idle, surly, drunken, unfaithful to God and to the master, an influence for evil in the gang, a bad example to all the younger men, a terror to this boy, whose guardian thou didst promise to be—what hast thou to say for thyself?"
Apparently the man had nothing to say in self-defence; the accusation was all too true.
Matvey continued: "I have warned thee more than once, but thou hast not heeded. Now the time is past; I warn thee no more, but dismiss thee. Here, take thy wages and begone, and see that thy hut is empty and clean by to-morrow, when a better man shall come to live there. This afternoon Sergey and I shall go over and fetch his things, but he returns to thee no more. Now go!"
At this stern dismissal, Abram's bloodshot eyes fixed themselves threateningly upon Sergey.
"All this trouble must be of thy doing, thou sly fox, thou thankless little beast!" he roared, frantic with rage. "Ach, well! I will be even with thee yet. I never forget, I never forgive! Thou hast compassed my ruin, and it shall go hard with me but I will compass thine. Be sure—very sure—of that, thou backbiting serpent!"
"Any more of this, and I give thee in charge of the forest police!" cried Matvey sternly. "Get out of my place, ere I lose all patience, and give thee what thou hast richly earned."
There was a tone in the foreman's ringing voice which even the burly, blustering Abram could not afford to ignore and disobey. One last baleful gaze he fastened upon the boy's troubled face, then he was gone.
"He is furious at the loss of the ring," Sergey said, when the unwelcome visitor had gone, "and I am in worse danger than ever. I dare not even work in the forest, for fear of meeting him. Oh, little father and mother, what can I do?"
"Listen, my son," said Matvey. "Last night the strong south wind and heavy rain made the river ice cracked and rotten, and in some places there is already open water. To-night or to-morrow the remaining ice will break up and float down the current, melting as it goes. Our Number 1 raft, the 'Swan,' is nearly ready to start, and thou shalt go on her as cook-boy and helper. What sayest thou, child?"
"Say—Matvey Philipitch? What can I say but a thousand grateful thanks? I shall grieve to leave you and dear, kind mother Christina, but I should never have a moment's peace or safety here, after those awful threats of uncle's. For even though you have dismissed him, Matvey Philipitch, he may be lurking about in the forest, watching and lying in wait for me. No, it is best every way that I go on the 'Swan,' as you say."
"If thou shouldst prefer to wait awhile longer under our protection, child, the second raft—the 'Wild Goose'—will be going later."
"No, father Matvey, I thank you—but no! I am anxious to be far away as soon as may be. But tell me, are all the rafts to be birds this year?"
"Yes, we shall have the 'Swan,' 'Wild Goose,' 'Duck,' 'Sea Gull,' and others. Last year we had flowers, such as the 'Water Lily,' 'Sunflower,' and so forth. The men take a pride in their rafts, and like them to have names. And I have known some of them grow so fond of their queer, unwieldy craft during the long voyage, that they have wept when they reached their port, and saw the timbers of the raft taken asunder, and the little cabin house, where the raftsmen had cooked, and eaten, and slept, hewn up for firewood."
"Perhaps I shall come to love the 'Swan' thus," said the boy. "But I shall be very lonely without you and mother Christina."
"I have friends in three of the towns through which thou wilt pass," said Matvey, "and to them I will give thee letters in case thou shouldst be sick or in any difficulty. For the rest, Ivan, the skipper of the 'Swan,' and his three sons are good, honest fellows, and they will be kind to thee. About passports there will be no trouble. My master, the Count, pays for a yearly 'permit,' which includes all his raftsmen, and Ivan has the certificate of a raft skipper, who knows all the shoals, the currents, the rocks, rapids, and other dangers. The voyage will take the whole summer, but thou canst return with the men by one of the steam cargo boats, working thy passage homeward, and tramping from whatever spot the steamer sets thee and thy companions down."
That afternoon Matvey and Sergey, according to their arrangement, went over to Abram's hut to get the boy's things. They found him clearing up the place, and packing his possessions. He looked round as his unwelcome callers appeared, and his surly face darkened.
"Sorry to trouble thee, Abram," said the foreman pleasantly, "but we need not do so for long. May Sergey pack away his things in this bag that I have brought?"
"Yes, yes! Take them and begone!" growled Abram. "I'm glad to be going myself to-morrow. A woodman's life is too dull for me, and I have friends with whom I can earn more in a night than I could do with my axe in a year. Ha! Ha! Sir Foreman, what say you to that?"
"Nothing, save that thou and thy fine friends will most assuredly come to a bad end sooner or later."
"Have done with your warnings, Matvey Philipitch. From this day I go my own way, and none shall hinder me."
"Until God hinder thee once for all, thou stubborn will! And hinder thee He shall, when the measure of thy sins is full!" said Matvey solemnly. "Come, Sergey, I see thou hast thy goods ready. Say farewell to thine uncle. It is not likely that thou and he shall meet again."
Abram laughed an evil, sneering laugh. "Nay," said he, "I am sure to see my dutiful nephew again. You see, Matvey Philipitch, I have a small account to settle with him, and this I would not forego, if I could."
"Well," said the foreman, "here he is! Settle it now!"
"No, no," retorted the man rudely. "Such matters are private between relatives. But I only postpone the affair. Some day—or, better still, some night—I will settle up old scores with this young rascal, and if there be anything left of him when I have got through, you are welcome to it, Sir Foreman."
"Come, little son, we have stayed long enough—too long!" said Matvey, shuddering at the malignant words and look of Abram Kapoostin. "Life is not long enough for us to waste time bandying words with a ruffian such as this. Come!"
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