The boy quickly glanced at his father.
"I remember you, mon oncle," answered the boy, looking at Stepan Arkadyevitch, and then casting down his eyes.
The uncle called the lad to him, and took his hand. "Well, how are you?" he asked, wanting to talk, but not knowing what to say.
The boy, blushing, and not answering, hastily with- drew his hand, and, as soon as his uncle had released it, flew away like a bird set free.
A year had passed since Serozha had seen his mother for the last time. During this time he had not even heard anything about her. He had been sent to school, and had become acquainted with boys of his own age, and learned to like them. His dreams and recollections about his mother, which after his interview with her had made him ill, now no longer occupied his mind. When they recurred to him he even tried to get rid of them, regarding them as disgraceful for a boy and fit only for girls; he knew that his parents had quarreled and parted, and that he must accustom himself to the idea of remaining with his father.
The sight of his uncle, who looked like his mother, was unpleasant to him, because it awakened memories which caused him shame; and it was still more unpleasant, because, from certain words which he had caught as he entered the door, and by the peculiar expression of his father's and his uncle's faces, he knew that they were talking about his mother. And so as not to blame his father, with whom he lived and on whom he was dependent, and especially so as not to give way to a sentiment which he felt was too degrading, he tried not to look at his uncle, who had come to disturb his tranquillity, and not to think of the past.
But when, shortly after, Stepan Arkadyevitch went out, he found the boy on the stairs, and he called him to him, and asked him how he spent bis spare time, now that he was at school. Serozha, out of his father's presence, talked freely.
"We have a railroad now," he said, in answer to his
