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Updated: June 10, 2025
"I am Vaska's brother, you see. . . . Father has the two of us: him, Vaska, and me, Kirila; besides us there are three sisters, and Vaska's a married man with a little one. . . . There are a lot of us and no one to work. . . . In the smithy it's nearly two years now since the forge has been heated. I am at the cotton factory, I can't do smith's work, and how can father work?
"Are you driving it to the market?" "No," the old man answered lazily. "Are you a townsman?" They got into conversation; Kirila told him what he had come to the hospital for, and what he had been talking about to the doctor.
Let alone work, he can't eat properly, he can't lift the spoon to his mouth." "What do you want from me?" "Be merciful! Let Vaska go!" The doctor looked wonderingly at Kirila, and without saying a word walked on. The young peasant ran on in front and flung himself in a heap at his feet. "Doctor, kind gentleman!" he besought him, blinking and again passing his open hand over his nose.
On the right was the dark prison with its red roof and sentry-boxes at the corners; on the left was the big town copse, now covered with hoar-frost. It was still; only an old man, wearing a woman's short jacket and a huge cap, was walking ahead, coughing and shouting to a cow which he was driving to the town. "Good-day, grandfather," said Kirila, overtaking him. "Good-day. . . ."
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