Vanka gave a tremulous sigh and went on writing. "And yesterday I was beaten," he wrote. "The master dragged me into the yard by my hair and thrashed me with a boot-stretcher because I fell asleep over their baby's cradle. And last week the mistress told me to clean a herring, and I began from the tail; so she took the herring and pushed its head into my face. The workmen laugh at me, send me to the tavern for vodka, and order me to steal the master's cucumbers, and the master beats me with whatever comes to hand. There is no food at all. In the morning they give me bread, at midday gruel, and in the evening bread again; as for tea or cabbage soup, the master and the mistress swallow it all themselves. They make me sleep in the passage, and when their baby cries I do not sleep at all, but rock the cradle. Dear grandfather, have mercy, take me away from here, home to the village, for I cannot bear it any longer. I bow down at your feet, and I will pray to God for you for ever; take me away from here, or I shall die." Vanka twisted his mouth, rubbed his eyes with his black fist, and gave a sob. "I will grind your snuff for you," he went on, "I will pray to God, and if anything is wrong, then you may beat me as hard as you like. And if there is no work for me, then I will beg the steward for Christ's sake to let me clean the boots, or I will go instead of Fedka to mind the sheep. Dear grandfather, I cannot bear it any more, it will simply be the death of me. I wanted to run away on foot to the village, but I have no boots, and I am afraid of the frost. And when I grow big, I will feed you for this and will not let anyone hurt you, and when you die I will pray for the rest of your soul, just as I pray for my mother Pelageya."