Aley helped me at work, did his utmost to be of service to me in the prison, and I could see that he was delighted when he could do anything to please me or make my life easier, and in his efforts to please me there was not a trace of anything cringing or self-seeking, nothing but a warm, friendly feeling for me which he no longer concealed. He had, moreover, a good deal of mechanical ability: he learnt to make underclothes fairly well, and to make boots and later on, as far as he could, to do carpentering. His brothers praised him and were proud of him.

“Listen, Aley,” I said to him one day, “why don’t you learn to read and write Russian? It would be a great advantage to you in Siberia later on, you know.”

“I should like to very much. But of whom can I learn?”

“Lots of men here can read and write! But if you like, I’ll teach you.”

“Oh, please do!” And he positively sat up on the bed and clasped his hands, looking at me imploringly.