the mass! What is wanted, first of all, is a loud, energetic
propaganda. Why is it that art--music, for instance--is so
living, so popular, and in reality so powerful? Because the musician
or the singer affects thousands at once. Precious, precious art!"
she went on, looking dreamily at the sky. "Art gives us wings and
carries us far, far away! Anyone who is sick of filth, of petty,
mercenary interests, anyone who is revolted, wounded, and indignant,
can find peace and satisfaction only in the beautiful."

When we drove into Kurilovka the weather was bright and joyous.
Somewhere they were threshing; there was a smell of rye straw. A
mountain ash was bright red behind the hurdle fences, and all the
trees wherever one looked were ruddy or golden. They were ringing
the bells, they were carrying the ikons to the school, and we could
hear them sing: "Holy Mother, our Defender," and how limpid the air
was, and how high the doves were flying.

The service was being held in the classroom. Then the peasants of
Kurilovka brought Masha the ikon, and the peasants of Dubetchnya
offered her a big loaf and a gilt salt cellar. And Masha broke into
sobs.

"If anything has been said that shouldn't have been or anything
done not to your liking, forgive us," said an old man, and he bowed
down to her and to me.

As we drove home Masha kept looking round at the school; the green
roof, which I had painted, and which was glistening in the sun,
remained in sight for a long while. And I felt that the look Masha
turned upon it now was one of farewell.