d which Mark Ivanitch was sitting
came the sound of a deep sigh.

"Do be so good," Zotov went on; "never mind tea--don't give it
me to-day, but let me have some oats. . . . I am ashamed to ask
you, I have wearied you with my poverty, but the horse is hungry."

"I can give it you," sighed the friend--"why not? But why the
devil do you keep those carcases?--tfoo!--Tell me that, please.
It would be all right if it were a useful horse, but--tfoo!--
one is ashamed to look at it. . . . And the dog's nothing but a
skeleton! Why the devil do you keep them?"

"What am I to do with them?"

"You know. Take them to Ignat the slaughterer--that is all there
is to do. They ought to have been there long ago. It's the proper
place for them."

"To be sure, that is so! . . . I dare say! . . ."

"You live like a beggar and keep animals," the friend went on. "I
don't grudge the oats. . . . God bless you. But as to the future,
brother . . . I can't afford to give regularly every day! There is
no end to your poverty! One gives and gives, and one doesn't know
when there will be an end to it all."

The friend sighed and stroked his red face.

"If you were dead that would settle it," he said. "You go on living,
and you don't know what for. . . . Yes, indeed! But if it is not
the Lord's will for you to die, you had better go somewhere into
an almshouse or a refuge."

"What for? I have relations. I have a great-niece. . . ."

And Zotov began telling at great length of his great-niece Glasha,
daughter of his niece Katerina, who lived somewhere on a farm.

"She is bound to keep me!" he said. "My house will be left to her,
so let her keep me; I'll go to her. It's Glasha, you know . . .
Katya's daughter; and Katya, you know, was my brother Panteley's
stepdaughter. . . . You understand? The house will come to her
. . . . Let her keep me!"

"To be sure; rather than live, as you do, a beggar, I should have
gone to her long ago."

"I will go! As God's above, I will go. It's her duty."

When an hour later the old friends were drinking a glass of vodka,
Zotov stood in the middle of the shop and said with enthusiasm:

"I have been meaning to go to her for a long time; I will go this
very day."

"To be sure; rather than hanging about and dying of hunger, you
ought to have gone to the farm long ago."

"I'll go at once! When I get there, I shall say: Take my house, but
keep me and treat me with respect. It's your duty! If you don't
care