Soloveitchik at once fetched a broom and began to sweep out the rooms,
for he took a pride in keeping his little home clean and neat. Then he
got a bucket of water from a cupboard, and broke bread into it.
Carrying this in one hand, the other being outstretched to maintain his
balance, he walked across the yard, taking short steps. In order to see
better, he had placed a lamp close to the window, yet it was so dark in
the yard that Soloveitchik felt relieved when he reached the dog's
kennel. Sultan's shaggy form, invisible in the gloom, advanced to meet
him, and a chain rattled ominously.

"Ah! Sultan! Kusch! Kusch!" exclaimed Soloveitchik, in order to give
himself courage. In the darkness, Sultan thrust his cold, moist nose
into his master's hand.

"There you are!" said Soloveitchik, as he set down the bucket.

Sultan sniffed, and began to eat voraciously, while his master stood
beside him and gazed mournfully at the surrounding gloom.

"Ah! what can I do?" he thought. "How can I force people to alter
their opinions? I myself expected to be told how to live, and how to
think. God has not given me the voice of a prophet, so, in what way can
I help?"

Sultan gave a grunt of satisfaction.

"Eat away, old boy, eat away!" said Soloveitchik. "I would let you
loose for a little run, but I haven't got the key, and I'm so tired."
Then to himself, "What clever, well-informed people those are! They
know such a lot; good Christians, very likely; and here am I.... Ah!
well, perhaps it's my own fault. I should have liked to say a word to
them, but I didn't know how to do it."