s.e.m.e.n took off his torn cap, intending to put it on the naked man, but his head grew cold, and so he thought: "My whole head is bald, while he has long, curly hair." He put it on again. "I had better put the boots on him."

He seated himself and put the felt boots on him.

The shoemaker addressed him and said:

"That's the way, my friend! Now move about and get warmed up. This business will be looked into without us. Can you walk?"

The man stood, looking meekly at s.e.m.e.n, but could not say a word.

"Why don't you speak? You can't stay here through the winter. We must make for a living place. Here, take my stick, lean on it, if you are weak. Tramp along!"

And the man went. And he walked lightly, and did not fall behind.

As they were walking along, s.e.m.e.n said to him:

"Who are you, please?"

"I am a stranger."

"I know all the people here about. How did you get near that chapel?"

"I cannot tell."

"Have people insulted you?"

"No one has. G.o.d has punished me."

"Of course, G.o.d does everything, but still you must be making for some place. Whither are you bound?"

"It makes no difference to me."

s.e.m.e.n was surprised. He did not resemble an evil-doer, and was gentle of speech, and yet did not say anything about himself. And s.e.m.e.n thought that all kinds of things happen, and so he said to the man:

"Well, come to my house and warm yourself a little."

s.e.m.e.n walked up to the farm, and the stranger did not fall behind, but walked beside him. A wind rose and blew into s.e.m.e.n's shirt, and his intoxication went away, and he began to feel cold. He walked along, sniffling, and wrapping himself in his wife's jacket, and he thought:

"There is your fur coat: I went to get myself a fur coat, and I am coming back without a caftan, and am even bringing a naked man with me.

Matrena will not praise me for it!"

And as s.e.m.e.n thought of Matrena, he felt sorry; and as he looked at the stranger and recalled how he had looked at him at the chapel, his blood began to play in his heart.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Whither are you bound?'"

_Photogravure from Painting by A. Kivshenko_]

III.

s.e.m.e.n's wife got things done early. She chopped the wood, brought the water, fed the children, herself took a bite of something, and fell to musing. She was thinking about when to set the bread, whether to-day or to-morrow. There was a big slice of it left.

"If s.e.m.e.n has his dinner there," she thought, "and does not eat much for supper, the bread will last until to-morrow."

Matrena turned the slice around and a second time, and thought:

"I will not set any bread to-day. I have enough meal for just one setting. We shall somehow hold out until Friday."

Matrena put the bread away, and seated herself at the table to put a patch in her husband's shirt. She was sewing and thinking of how he would buy a sheepskin for a fur coat.

"If only the furrier does not cheat him, for my man is too simple for anything. He himself will not cheat a soul, but a little child can deceive him. Eight roubles is no small sum. One can pickup a good fur coat for it. It will not be tanned, still it will be a fur coat. How we suffered last winter without a fur coat! We could not get down to the river, or anywhere. And there he has gone out, putting everything on him, and I have nothing to dress in. He went away early; it is time for him to be back. If only my dear one has not gone on a spree!"

Just as Matrena was thinking this, the steps creaked on the porch, and somebody entered. Matrena stuck the needle in the cloth, and went out into the vestibule. She saw two coming in: s.e.m.e.n, and with him a man without a cap and in felt boots.

Matrena at once smelt the liquor in her husband's breath. "Well," she thought, "so it is: he has been on a spree." And when she saw that he was without his caftan, in nothing but the jacket, and that he was not bringing anything, but only keeping silent and crouching, something broke in Matrena's heart. "He has spent all the money in drinks," she thought, "and has been on a spree with some tramp, and has even brought him along."

Matrena let them pa.s.s into the hut, and then stepped in herself. She saw the lean young man, and he had on him their caftan. No shirt was to be seen under the caftan, and he had no hat on his head. When he entered, he stood still, and did not stir, and did not raise his eyes. And Matrena thought: "He is not a good man,--he is afraid."

Matrena scowled and went to the oven, waiting to see what would happen.

s.e.m.e.n took off his cap and sat down on the bench like a good man.

"Well, Matrena, will you let us have something for supper, will you?" he said.

Matrena growled something under her breath. She stood at the oven, and did not stir: she looked now at the one, and now at the other, and shook her head. s.e.m.e.n saw that his wife was not in a good humour, but there was nothing to be done, and he acted as though he did not see it. He took the stranger by the arm:

"Sit down, my friend," he said, "we shall have our supper."

The stranger sat down on the bench.

"Well, have you not cooked anything?"

That simply roiled Matrena.

"I have cooked, but not for you. You seem to have drunk away your senses, I see. You went to get a fur coat, and come back without your caftan, and have even brought some kind of a naked tramp with you. I have no supper for you drunkards."

"Stop, Matrena! What is the use of wagging your tongue without any sense? First ask what kind of a man it is--"

"Tell me what you did with the money."

s.e.m.e.n stuck his hand into the caftan, took out the bill, and opened it before her.

"Here is the money. Trifonov has not paid me,--he promised to give it to me to-morrow."

That enraged Matrena even more: he had bought no fur coat, and the only caftan they had he had put on a naked fellow, and had even brought him along.

She grabbed the bill from the table, and ran to put it away, and said:

"I have no supper. One cannot feed all the drunkards."