laugh. The first time I see my papa laugh in this kawntree. Oh, very
nice!'

I asked her if she meant the two Russians who lived up by the big dog-town.
I had often been tempted to go to see them when I was riding in that
direction, but one of them was a wild-looking fellow and I was a little
afraid of him. Russia seemed to me more remote than any other country--
farther away than China, almost as far as the North Pole. Of all the
strange, uprooted people among the first settlers, those two men were the
strangest and the most aloof. Their last names were unpronounceable, so
they were called Pavel and Peter. They went about making signs to people,
and until the Shimerdas came they had no friends. Krajiek could understand
them a little, but he had cheated them in a trade, so they avoided him.
Pavel, the tall one, was said to be an anarchist; since he had no means of
imparting his opinions, probably his wild gesticulations and his generally
excited and rebellious manner gave rise to this supposition. He must once
have been a very strong man, but now his great frame, with big, knotty
joints, had a wasted look, and the skin was drawn tight over his high
cheekbones. His breathing was hoarse, and he always had a cough.

Peter, his companion, was a very different sort of fellow; short,
bow-legged, and as fat as butter. He always seemed pleased when he met
people on the road, smiled and took off his cap to everyone, men as well as
women. At a distance, on his wagon, he looked like an old man; his hair
and beard were of such a pale flaxen colour that they seemed white in the
sun. They were as thick and curly as carded wool. His rosy face, with its
snub nose, set in this fleece, was like a melon among its leaves. He was
usually called `Curly Peter,' or `Rooshian Peter.'

The two Russians made good farm-hands, and in summer they worked out