The day before Christmas Eve, Lentilov spent the whole day poring over the map of Asia and making notes, while Volodya, with a languid and swollen face that looked as though it had been stung by a bee, walked about the rooms and ate nothing.  And once he stood still before the holy image in the nursery, crossed himself, and said: 

“Lord, forgive me a sinner; Lord, have pity on my poor unhappy mamma!”

In the evening he burst out crying.  On saying good-night he gave his father a long hug, and then hugged his mother and sisters.  Katya and Sonya knew what was the matter, but little Masha was puzzled, completely puzzled.  Every time she looked at Lentilov she grew thoughtful and said with a sigh: 

“When Lent comes, nurse says we shall have to eat peas and lentils.”

Early in the morning of Christmas Eve, Katya and Sonya slipped quietly out of bed, and went to find out how the boys meant to run away to America.  They crept to their door.

“Then you don’t mean to go?” Lentilov was saying angrily.  “Speak out:  aren’t you going?”

“Oh dear,” Volodya wept softly.  “How can I go?  I feel so unhappy about mamma.”

“My pale-face brother, I pray you, let us set off.  You declared you were going, you egged me on, and now the time comes, you funk it!”

“I . . .  I . . .  I’m not funking it, but I . . .  I . . .  I’m sorry for mamma.”

“Say once and for all, are you going or are you not?”

“I am going, only . . . wait a little . . .  I want to be at home a little.”

“In that case I will go by myself,” Lentilov declared.  “I can get on without you.  And you wanted to hunt tigers and fight!  Since that’s how it is, give me back my cartridges!”

At this Volodya cried so bitterly that his sisters could not help crying too.  Silence followed.

“So you are not coming?” Lentilov began again.

“I . . .  I . . .  I am coming!”

“Well, put on your things, then.”

And Lentilov tried to cheer Volodya up by singing the praises of America, growling like a tiger, pretending to be a steamer, scolding him, and promising to give him all the ivory and lions’ and tigers’ skins.

And this thin, dark boy, with his freckles and his bristling shock of hair, impressed the little girls as an extraordinary remarkable person.  He was a hero, a determined character, who knew no fear, and he growled so ferociously, that, standing at the door, they really might imagine there was a tiger or lion inside.  When the little girls went back to their room and dressed, Katya’s eyes were full of tears, and she said: 

“Oh, I feel so frightened!”

Everything was as usual till two o’clock, when they sat down to dinner.  Then it appeared that the boys were not in the house.  They sent to the servants’ quarters, to the stables, to the bailiff’s cottage.  They were not to be found.  They sent into the village—­ they were not there.