Every time that they were together Foma begged his father: "Papa, tell me about yourself." .........................
The steamer was now going up the Volga.

One suffocating night in July, when the sky was overcast with thick black clouds, and everything on the Volga was somewhat ominously calm, they reached Kazan and anchored near Uslon at the end of an enormous fleet of vessels.

The clinking of the anchor chains and the shouting of the crew awakened Foma; he looked out of the window and saw, far in the distance, small lights glimmering fantastically: the water about the boat black and thick, like oil--and nothing else could be seen.

The boy's heart trembled painfully and he began to listen attentively.

A scarcely audible, melancholy song reached his ears--mournful and monotonous as a chant on the caravan the watchmen called to one another; the steamer hissed angrily getting up steam.
And the black water of the river splashed sadly and quietly against the sides of the vessels.