stretched himself, rubbed his eyes; then,
taking a tumbler off the dresser, he leisurely filled it with water.

"And where am I to get the silver salver?" said he.

"That's in keeping of Matwei the buffetshik," observed the table-decker.

"And where is Matwei to be found?"

"Here you, Vatka," pursued the valet, turning to another attendant, who
was busy over his basin of kwas, "go you to Matwei and tell him that we
want a silver salver on which to carry a tumbler, for my lady's fainting
up stairs, and my lord is calling for water."

A loud ring from above was heard, as if to enforce the order. "Sei
tshas! sei tshas!-- directly, directly!" called out Vatka; but he
nevertheless finished his kwas, and wiped his mouth before he went to
Matwei the butler to procure the silver salver on which Ivan the footman
would carry the tumbler of water which Paul the valet had been ordered
to bring.

Before all was ready another messenger came to tell Ilia the bearded
coachman to put to the horses, for the lady was ready for her drive.
It was evident that she had managed to recover from her fainting fit
without the aid of the glass of water,-- a happy thing for one who had
the misfortune to keep fifty or sixty servants.

Wisky laughed at my look of surprise. "I believe that one pair of
hands," said he, "often serve better than a dozen. The Russian proverb
says that 'directly' means _to-morrow morning_, and 'this minute' _this
day week_."

With quiet night came our feasting-time, and when the kitchen was
deserted by the crowds of servants, Whiskerandos, Wisky, and I, crept
softly out of our hole, provided with pretty sharp appetites for our
meal.

"I am curious to taste that liquor which you call kwas," said I; "Vatka
seemed to relish it exceedingly."

"Relish it, brother! I should think so!" exclaimed Wisky. "Kwas is to a
Russian what water is to a fish; rich or poor could hardly bear
existence without it."

"Not bad at all," said I, dipping my whiskers carefully into a bowl that
had been set aside by the cook.

"Mind you don't tumble in, old fellow!" cried Whiskerandos, "and be
drowned in kwas as I have heard that a duke once was drowned in wine."

"And what may this kwas be made of?" inquired I, after another approving
sip.

"I ought to know, little brother," replied Wisky, "for many and many a
time have I seen it brewed. A pailful of water is poured into an earthen
jar, into which are shaken two pounds of barley-me