As Karely opened the door, Boriska appeared at the farther end of the
room, calling into the stove: "Come out; you have guests here." To
which a voice from within responded: "Let them wait." After a few
minutes, a door opened behind the stove, and a man of spare bent
figure advanced towards the travellers. His face was disfigured by
small-pox, and rendered grotesque by a pair of stiff gray moustaches,
which grew straight forward from under the nose, leaving only the
extremities of the lips visible, and giving him very much the
appearance of an otter. He wore an old stuff coat--too cool for winter
and too warm for summer--the sleeves of which were turned up to the
elbow; for he had just come out of the stove, which he had been
plastering, and both hands were covered with mortar.

To judge by his countenance, he certainly did not seem endeavouring to
look pleased to see his dear relations; and though the lady greeted
him amiably, he did not seem much inclined to open the other side of
the door at which she was standing, waiting for her brother's welcome.

"What! so many of you!" he exclaimed, pushing open the door with his
elbow; "where the tartar are you all going?"

The lady shook her head placedly, and pointing to her brother's dirty
hands--"How now, dear brother!" she said, in a half reproachful and
half jesting tone; "must you really do such work yourself?"

"It is no shame to work," replied her brother; "never trust to others
what you can do yourself."

"I would kiss your hand, dear Uncle Abris, if you would put on
gloves," said Karely, laughing.

"Easy enough for fine gentlemen like you to speak, but a poor man must
do what he can.--Boris! bring me a bowl of water to wash my hands, for
these gentle folks are ashamed to stand in the room with me."

"Dirty the dishes, indeed!" cried Boris sharply; "there is the tub."

Master Abris went and washed in the tub; then, lifting up the
bed-quilt, he wiped his hands and face in the sheet, with so many
grimaces, that it was evident he was undergoing an unusual penance.

The guests meanwhile entered the sitting-room. Every room has its own
peculiar perfume. On entering some apartments an agreeable friendly
odour, which we cannot account for, greets the sense, while others are
so close and so unpleasant that we involuntarily retreat. The
apartment of Uncle Abris was among the latter. The walls were soiled
and daubed with pencil scrawls of several years' standing; there