I had my own room in the house, but I lived in a shed in the yard,
under the same roof as a brick barn which had been built some time
or other, probably to keep harness in; great hooks were driven into
the wall. Now it was not wanted, and for the last thirty years my
father had stowed away in it his newspapers, which for some reason
he had bound in half-yearly volumes and allowed nobody to touch.
Living here, I was less liable to be seen by my father and his
visitors, and I fancied that if I did not live in a real room, and
did not go into the house every day to dinner, my father's words
that I was a burden upon him did not sound so offensive.

My sister was waiting for me. Unseen by my father, she had brought
me some supper: not a very large slice of cold veal and a piece of
bread. In our house such sayings as: "A penny saved is a penny
gained," and "Take care of the pence and the pounds will take care
of themselves," and so on, were frequently repeated, and my sister,
weighed down by these vulgar maxims, did her utmost to cut down the
expenses, and so we fared badly. Putting the plate on the table,
she sat down on my bed and began to cry.

"Misail," she said, "what a way to treat us!"

She did not cover her face; her tears dropped on her bosom and
hands, and there was a look of distress on her face. She fell back
on the pillow, and abandoned herself to her tears, sobbing and
quivering all over.

"You have left the service again . . ." she articulated. "Oh, how
awful it is!"