red her shroud
and that lottery tickets were hidden away by her in the same box.

"Anyutinka, be merciful at Christmas," she said, opening the door
into the kitchen. "Forgive him, bless the man! Have done with it!"

The coachman Panteley, who had been dismissed for drunkenness in
November, was on his knees in the middle of the kitchen. He was a
good-natured man, but he used to be unruly when he was drunk, and
could not go to sleep, but persisted in wandering about the buildings
and shouting in a threatening voice, "I know all about it!" Now
from his beefy and bloated face and from his bloodshot eyes it could
be seen that he had been drinking continually from November till
Christmas.

"Forgive me, Anna Akimovna," he brought out in a hoarse voice,
striking his forehead on the floor and showing his bull-like neck.

"It was Auntie dismissed you; ask her."

"What about auntie?" said her aunt, walking into the kitchen,
breathing heavily; she was very stout, and on her bosom one might
have stood a tray of teacups and a samovar. "What about auntie now?
You are mistress here, give your own orders; though these rascals
might be all dead for all I care. Come, get up, you hog!" she shouted
at Panteley, losing patience. "Get out of my sight! It's the last
time I forgive you, but if you transgress again--don't ask for
mercy!"

Then they went into the dining-room to coffee. But they had hardly
sat down, when the downstairs Masha rushed headlong in, saying with
horror, "The singers!" And ran back again. They heard some one
blowing his nose, a low bass cough, and footsteps that sounded like
horses' iron-shod hoofs tramping about the entry near the hall. For
half a minute all was hushed. . . . The singers burst out so suddenly
and loudly that every one started. While they were singing, the
priest from the almshouses with the deacon and the sexton arrived.
Putting on the stole, the priest slowly said that when they were
ringing for matins it was snowing and not cold, but that the frost
was sharper towards morning, God bless it! and now there must be
twenty degrees of frost.

"Many people maintain, though, that winter is healthier than summer,"
said the deacon; then immediately assumed an austere expression and
chanted after the priest. "Thy Birth, O Christ our Lord. . . ."

Soon the priest from the workmen's hospital came with the deacon,
then the Sisters from the hospital, children from the orphanage,
and then singing could be