CHAPTER XII.
The next day when Nilovna came up to the gates of the factory with her load, the guides stopped her roughly, and ordering her to put the pails down on the ground, made a careful examination.
"My eatables will get cold," she observed calmly, as they felt around her dress.
"Shut up!" said a guard sullenly.
Another one, tapping her lightly on the shoulder, said with assurance: "Those books are thrown across the fence, I say!" Old man Sizov came up to her and looking around said in an undertone: "Did you hear, mother ?" "What ?" "About the pamphlets.

They've appeared again.

They've just scattered them all over like salt over bread.

Much good those arrests and searches have done! My nephew Mazin has been hauled away to prison, your son's been taken.

Now it's plain it isn't he!" And stroking his beard Sizov concluded, "It's not people, but thoughts, and thoughts are not fleas; you can't catch them!" He gathered his beard in his hand, looked at her, and said as he walked away: "Why don't you come to see me some time?
I guess you are lonely all by yourself." She thanked him, and calling her wares, she sharply observed the unusual animation in the factory.