the morning and it would be pleasanter,' said the
old man, confirming what his wife had said.

'I can't, friend. Business!' said Vasili Andreevich. 'Lose an hour and
you can't catch it up in a year,' he added, remembering the grove and
the dealers who might snatch that deal from him. 'We shall get there,
shan't we?' he said, turning to Nikita.

Nikita did not answer for some time, apparently still intent on thawing
out his beard and moustache.

'If only we don't go astray again,' he replied gloomily. He was gloomy
because he passionately longed for some vodka, and the only thing that
could assuage that longing was tea and he had not yet been offered any.

'But we have only to reach the turning and then we shan't go wrong. The
road will be through the forest the whole way,' said Vasili Andreevich.

'It's just as you please, Vasili Andreevich. If we're to go, let us go,'
said Nikita, taking the glass of tea he was offered.

'We'll drink our tea and be off.'

Nikita said nothing but only shook his head, and carefully pouring some
tea into his saucer began warming his hands, the fingers of which were
always swollen with hard work, over the steam. Then, biting off a tiny
bit of sugar, he bowed to his hosts, said, 'Your health!' and drew in
the steaming liquid.

'If somebody would see us as far as the turning,' said Vasili
Andreevich.

'Well, we can do that,' said the eldest son. 'Petrushka will harness and
go that far with you.'

'Well, then, put in the horse, lad, and I shall be thankful to you for
it.'

'Oh, what for, dear man?' said the kindly old woman. 'We are heartily
glad to do it.'

'Petrushka, go and put in the mare,' said the eldest brother.

'All right,' replied Petrushka with a smile, and promptly snatching his
cap down from a nail he ran away to harness.

While the horse was being harnessed the talk returned to the point at
which it had stopped when Vasili Andreevich drove up to the window. The
old man had been complaining to his neighbour, the village elder, about
his third son who had not sent him anything for the holiday though he
had sent a French shawl to his wife.

'The young people are getting out of hand,' said the old man.

'And how they do!' said the neighbour. 'There's no managing them! They
know too much. There's Demochkin now, who broke his father's arm. It's
all from being too clever, it seems.'

Nikita listened, watched their faces, and evidently would have liked to
share in