He thought a long time what to say,
but could not think of anything. Another two, three days passed,
and it became perfectly clear to him that the crew no longer
liked him. He began to feel lonesome on the steamer, and amid the
parti-coloured mist of new impressions, still more often there
came up before Foma the image of his kind and gentle Aunt Anfisa,
with her stories, and smiles, and soft, ringing laughter, which
filled the boy's soul with a joyous warmth. He still lived in the
world of fairy-tales, but the invisible and pitiless hand of
reality was already at work tearing the beautiful, fine web of
the wonderful, through which the boy had looked at everything
about him. The incident with the machinist and the pilot directed
his attention to his surroundings; Foma's eyes became more sharp-
sighted. A conscious searchfulness appeared in them and in his
questions to his father rang a yearning to understand which
threads and springs were managing the deeds of men.
One day a scene took place before him: the sailors were carrying
wood, and one of them, the young, curly-haired and gay Yefim,
passing the deck of the ship with hand-barrows, said loudly and
angrily:
"No, he has no conscience whatever! There was no agreement that I
should carry wood.
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