"THANK goodness he did not ask me about Grushenka," thought

Alyosha, as he left his father's house and turned towards Madame

Hohlakov's, "or I might have had to tell him of my meeting with

Grushenka yesterday."

    Alyosha felt painfully that since yesterday both combatants had

renewed their energies, and that their hearts had grown hard again.

"Father is spiteful and angry, he's made some plan and will stick to

it. And what of Dmitri? He too will be harder than yesterday, he too

must be spiteful and angry, and he too, no doubt, has made some

plan. Oh, I must succeed in finding him to-day, whatever happens."

    But Alyosha had not long to meditate. An incident occurred on

the road, which, though apparently of little consequence, made a great

impression on him. just after he had crossed the square and turned the

corner coming out into Mihailovsky Street, which is divided by a small

ditch from the High Street (our whole town is intersected by ditches),

he saw a group of schoolboys between the ages of nine and twelve, at

the bridge. They were going home from school, some with their bags

on their shoulders, others with leather satchels slung across them,

some in short jackets, others in little overcoats. Some even had those

high boots with creases round the ankles, such as little boys spoilt

by rich fathers love to wear. The whole group was talking eagerly

about something, apparently holding a council. Alyosha had never

from his Moscow days been able to pass children without taking

notice of them, and although he was particularly fond of children of

three or thereabout, he liked schoolboys of ten and eleven too. And

so, anxious as he was to-day, he wanted at once to turn aside to

talk to them. He looked into their excited rosy faces, and noticed

at once that all the boys had stones in their hands. Behind the

ditch some thirty paces away, there was another schoolboy standing

by a fence. He too had a satchel at his side. He was about ten years

old, pale, delicate-looking and with sparkling black eyes. He kept

an attentive and anxious watch on the other six, obviously his

schoolfellows with whom he had just come out of school, but with

whom he had evidently had a feud.

    Alyosha went up and, addressing a fair, curly-headed, rosy boy

in a black jacket, observed:

    "When I used to wear a satchel like yours, I always used to

carry it on my left side, so as to have my right hand free, but you've

got yours on your right side. So it will be awkward for you to get

at it."

    Alyosha had no art or premeditation in beginning with this

practical remark. But it is the only way for a grown-up person to

get at once into confidential relations with a child, or still more

with a group of children. One must begin in a serious, businesslike

way so as to be on a perfectly equal footing. Alyosha understood it by

instinct.

    "But he is left-handed," another, a fine healthy-looking boy of

eleven, answered promptly. All the others stared at Alyosha.

    "He even throws stones with his left hand," observed a third.

    At that instant a stone flew into the group, but only just

grazed the left-handed boy, though it was well and vigorously thrown

by the boy standing on the other side of the ditch.

    "Give it him, hit him back, Smurov," they all shouted. But Smurov,

the left-handed boy, needed no telling, and at once revenged

himself; he threw a stone, but it missed the boy and hit the ground.

The boy on the other side of the ditch, the pocket of whose coat was

visibly bulging with stones, flung another stone at the group; this

time it flew straight at Alyosha and hit him painfully on the

shoulder.

    "He aimed it at you, he meant it for you. You are Karamazov,

Karamazov!" the boys shouted laughing, "Come, all throw at him at

once!" and six stones flew at the boy. One struck the boy on the

head and he fell down, but at once leapt up and began ferociously

returning their fire. Both sides threw stones incessantly. Many of the

group had their pockets full too.

    "What are you about! Aren't you ashamed? Six against one! Why,

you'll kill him," cried Alyosha.

    He ran forward and met the flying stones to screen the solitary

boy. Three or four ceased throwing for a minute.

    "He began first!" cried a boy in a red shirt in an angry

childish voice. "He is a beast, he stabbed Krassotkin in class the

other day with a penknife. It bled. Krassotkin wouldn't tell tales,

but he must be thrashed."

    "But what for? I suppose you tease him."

    "There, he sent a stone in your back again, he knows you," cried

the children. "It's you he is throwing at now, not us. Come, all of

you, at him again, don't miss, Smurov!" and again a fire of stones,

and a very vicious one, began. The boy on the other side of the

ditch was hit in the chest; he screamed, began to cry and ran away

uphill towards Mihailovsky Street. They all shouted: "Aha, he is

funking, he is running away. Wisp of tow!"

    "You don't know what a beast he is, Karamazov, killing is too good

for him," said the boy in the jacket, with flashing eyes. He seemed to

be the eldest.

    "What's wrong with him?" asked Alyosha, "Is he a tell-tale or

what?"

    The boys looked at one another as though derisively.

    "Are you going that way, to Mihailovsky?" the same boy went on.

"Catch him up.... You see he's stopped again, he is waiting and

looking at you."

    "He is looking at you," the other boys chimed in.

    "You ask him, does he like a dishevelled wisp of tow. Do you hear,

ask him that!"

    There was a general burst of laughter. Alyosha looked at them, and

they at him.

    "Don't go near him, he'll hurt you," cried Smurov in a warning

voice.

    "I shan't ask him about the wisp of tow, for I expect you tease

him with that question somehow. But I'll find out from him why you

hate him so."

    "Find out then, find out," cried the boys laughing.

    Alyosha crossed the bridge and walked uphill by the fence,

straight towards the boy.

    "You'd better look out," the boys called after him; "he won't be

afraid of you. He will stab you in a minute, on the sly, as he did

Krassotkin."

    The boy waited for him without budging. Coming up to him,

Alyosha saw facing him a child of about nine years old. He was an

undersized weakly boy with a thin pale face, with large dark eyes that

gazed at him vindictively. He was dressed in a rather shabby old

overcoat, which he had monstrously outgrown. His bare arms stuck out

beyond his sleeves. There was a large patch on the right knee of his

trousers, and in his right boot just at the toe there was a big hole

in the leather, carefully blackened with ink. Both the pockets of

his greatcoat were weighed down with stones. Alyosha stopped two steps

in front of him, looking inquiringly at him, The boy, seeing at once

from Alyosha's eyes that he wouldn't beat him, became less defiant,

and addressed him first.

    "I am alone, and there are six of them. I'll beat them all,

alone!" he said suddenly, with flashing eyes.

    "I think one of the stones must have hurt you badly," observed

Alyosha.

    "But I hit Smurov on the head!" cried the boy.

    "They told me that you know me, and that you threw a stone at me

on purpose," said Alyosha.

    The boy looked darkly at him.

    "I don't know you. Do you know me?" Alyosha continued.

    "Let me alone!" the boy cried irritably; but he did not move, as

though he were expecting something, and again there was a vindictive

light in his eyes.

    "Very well, I am going," said Alyosha; "only I don't know you

and I don't tease you. They told me how they tease you, but I don't

want to tease you. Good-bye!"

    "Monk in silk trousers!" cried the boy, following Alyosha with the

same vindictive and defiant expression, and he threw himself into an

attitude of defence, feeling sure that now Alyosha would fall upon

him; but Alyosha turned, looked at him, and walked away. He had not

gone three steps before the biggest stone the boy had in his pocket

hit him a painful blow in the back.

    "So you'll hit a man from behind! They tell the truth, then,

when they say that you attack on the sly," said Alyosha, turning round

again. This time the boy threw a stone savagely right into Alyosha's

face; but Alyosha just had time to guard himself, and the stone struck

him on the elbow.

    "Aren't you ashamed? What have I done to you?" he cried.

    The boy waited in silent defiance, certain that now Alyosha

would attack him. Seeing that even now he would not, his rage was like

a little wild beast's; he flew at Alyosha himself, and before

Alyosha had time to move, the spiteful child had seized his left

hand with both of his and bit his middle finger. He fixed his teeth in

it and it was ten seconds before he let go. Alyosha cried out with

pain and pulled his finger away with all his might. The child let go

at last and retreated to his former distance. Alyosha's finger had

been badly bitten to the bone, close to the nail; it began to bleed.

Alyosha took out his handkerchief and bound it tightly round his

injured hand. He was a full minute bandaging it. The boy stood waiting

all the time. At last Alyosha raised his gentle eyes and looked at

him.

    "Very well," he said, "You see how badly you've bitten me.

That's enough, isn't it? Now tell me, what have I done to you?"

    The boy stared in amazement.

    "Though I don't know you and it's the first time I've seen you,"

Alyosha went on with the same serenity, "yet I must have done

something to you- you wouldn't have hurt me like this for nothing.

So what have I done? How have I wronged you, tell me?"

    Instead of answering, the boy broke into a loud tearful wail and

ran away. Alyosha walked slowly after him towards Mihailovsky

Street, and for a long time he saw the child running in the distance

as fast as ever, not turning his head and no doubt still keeping up

his tearful wail. He made up his mind to find him out as soon as he

had time, and to solve this mystery. just now he had not the time.