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THE SPY
CHAPTER I
When Yevsey Klimkov was four years old,his father was shot dead by the forester; andwhen he was seven years old, his mother died.She died suddenly in the field at harvest time.And so strange was this that Yevsey was not evenfrightened by the sight of her dead body.
Uncle Piotr, a blacksmith, put his hand on theboy's head, and said:
"What are we going to do now?"
Yevsey took a sidelong glance at the cornerwhere his mother lay upon a bench, and answeredin a low voice:
"I don't know."
The blacksmith wiped the sweat from his facewith his shirtsleeve, and after a long silence gentlyshoved his nephew aside.
"You're going to live with me," he said."We'll send you to school, I suppose, so that youwon't be in our way. Ah, you old man!"
From that day the boy was called Old Man.6The nickname suited him very well. He was toosmall for his age, his movements were sluggish,and his voice thin. A little bird-like nose stuck outsadly from a bony face, his round colorless eyesblinked timorously, his hair was sparse and grewin tufts. The impression he made was of a puny,shriveled-up little old fellow. The children inschool laughed at him and beat him, his dull oldishlook and his owl-like face somehow irritatingthe healthier and livelier among them. He heldhimself aloof, and lived alone, silently, always inthe shade, or in some corner or hole. Withoutwinking his round eyes he looked forth upon thepeople from his retirement, cautiously contractedlike a snail in its shell. When his eyes grew tired,he closed them, and for a long time sat sightless,gently swaying his thin body.
Yevsey endeavored to escape observation evenin his uncle's ho