"I feel well with you! I'm not a big bird, either.

I am only the son of the courthouse guard, and noncommissioned officer, Matvey Yozhov!" "Why does he say that ?" thought Foma.

"What difference does it make whose son a man is?
A man is not respected on account of his father, but for his brains." The sun was setting like a huge bonfire in the sky, tinting the clouds with hues of gold and of blood.

Dampness and silence were breathed from the forest, while at its outskirts dark human figures bustled about noisily.

One of them, short and lean, in a broad-brimmed straw hat, played the accordion; another one, with dark moustache and with his cap on the back of his head, sang an accompaniment softly.