His life was uneventful.

One day he received a letter, written in Esthonian, but as he himself was illiterate, and as the others did not understand Esthonian, the letter remained unread; and as if not understanding that the letter might bring him tidings from his native home, he flung it into the manure with a certain savage, grim indifference.

At one time Yanson tried to make love to the cook, but he was not successful, and was rudely rejected and ridiculed.

He was short in stature, his face was freckled, and his small, sleepy eyes were somewhat of an indefinite color.

Yanson took his failure indifferently, and never again bothered the cook.
But while Yanson spoke but little, he was listening to something all the time.