on a week-day to hear the
drunken voice of a man.

One of the Cossack wives, a tall, masculine old woman, approaches
Granny Ulitka from the homestead opposite and asks her for a light. In
her hand she holds a rag.

'Have you cleared up. Granny?'

'The girl is lighting the fire. Is it fire you want?' says Granny
Ulitka, proud of being able to oblige her neighbour.

Both women enter the hut, and coarse hands unused to dealing with small
articles tremblingly lift the lid of a matchbox, which is a rarity in
the Caucasus. The masculine-looking new-comer sits down on the doorstep
with the evident intention of having a chat.

'And is your man at the school. Mother?' she asked.

'He's always teaching the youngsters. Mother. But he writes that he'll
come home for the holidays,' said the cornet's wife.

'Yes, he's a clever man, one sees; it all comes useful.'

'Of course it does.'

'And my Lukashka is at the cordon; they won't let him come home,' said
the visitor, though the cornet's wife had known all this long ago. She
wanted to talk about her Lukashka whom she had lately fitted out for
service in the Cossack regiment, and whom she wished to marry to the
cornet's daughter, Maryanka.

'So he's at the cordon?'

'He is. Mother. He's not been home since last holidays. The other day I
sent him some shirts by Fomushkin. He says he's all right, and that his
superiors are satisfied. He says they are looking out for abreks again.
Lukashka is quite happy, he says.'

'Ah well, thank God,' said the cornet's wife.' "Snatcher" is certainly
the only word for him.' Lukashka was surnamed 'the Snatcher' because of
his bravery in snatching a boy from a watery grave, and the cornet's
wife alluded to this, wishing in her turn to say something agreeable to
Lukashka's mother.

'I thank God, Mother, that he's a good son! He's a fine fellow,
everyone praises him,' says Lukashka's mother. 'All I wish is to get
him married; then I could die in peace.'

'Well, aren't there plenty of young women in the village?' answered the
cornet's wife slyly as she carefully replaced the lid of the matchbox
with her horny hands.

'Plenty, Mother, plenty,' remarked Lukashka's mother, shaking her head.
'There's your girl now, your Maryanka--that's the sort of girl! You'd
have to search through the whole place to find such another!' The
cornet's wife knows what Lukashka's mother is after, but though she
believes him to be a good Cossack she hangs back: