, opened it,
and picking up a stick from the ground, began driving out his
dependents. The horse shook its head, moved its shoulder-blades,
and limped to the gate; the dog followed him. Both of them went out
into the street, and, after walking some twenty paces, stopped at
the fence.

"I'll give it you!" Zotov threatened them.

When he had driven out his dependents he felt calmer, and began
sweeping the yard. From time to time he peeped out into the street:
the horse and the dog were standing like posts by the fence, looking
dejectedly towards the gate.

"Try how you can do without me," muttered the old man, feeling as
though a weight of anger were being lifted from his heart. "Let
somebody else look after you now! I am stingy and ill-tempered. . . .
It's nasty living with me, so you try living with other people
. . . . Yes. . . ."

After enjoying the crushed expression of his dependents, and grumbling
to his heart's content, Zotov went out of the yard, and, assuming
a ferocious air, shouted:

"Well, why are you standing there? Whom are you waiting for? Standing
right across the middle of the road and preventing the public from
passing! Go into the yard!"

The horse and the dog with drooping heads and a guilty air turned
towards the gate. Lyska, probably feeling she did not deserve
forgiveness, whined piteously.

"Stay you can, but as for food, you'll get nothing from me! You may
die, for all I care!"

Meanwhile the sun began to break through the morning mist; its
slanting rays gilded over the autumn frost. There was a sound of
steps and voices. Zotov put back the broom in its place, and went
out of the yard to see his crony and neighbour, Mark Ivanitch, who
kept a little general shop. On reaching his friend's shop, he sat
down on a folding-stool, sighed sedately, stroked his beard, and
began about the weather. From the weather the friends passed to the
new deacon, from the deacon to the choristers; and the conversation
lengthened out. They did not notice as they talked how time was
passing, and when the shop-boy brought in a big teapot of boiling
water, and the friends proceeded to drink tea, the time flew as
quickly as a bird. Zotov got warm and felt more cheerful.

"I have a favour to ask of you, Mark Ivanitch," he began, after the
sixth glass, drumming on the counter with his fingers. "If you would
just be so kind as to give me a gallon of oats again to-day. . . ."

From behind the big tea-chest behin