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Updated: May 8, 2025
Why don't you drink your tea? Drink it up; and in your absence, while you have been trailing along with the waggons, we have settled all our business capitally. Thank God we have sold our wool to Tcherepahin, and no one could wish to have done better. . . . We have made a good bargain." At the first sight of his own people Yegorushka felt an overwhelming desire to complain.
His shivering grew more and more acute. Panteley went out to take his turn with the horses, and afterwards came back again, and still Yegorushka was shivering all over and could not get to sleep. Something weighed upon his head and chest and oppressed him, and he did not know what it was, whether it was the old people whispering, or the heavy smell of the sheepskin.
"There is no need to indulge in luxuries on an ordinary weekday; but I thought, I've an invalid at home, so it is excusable. And the caviare is good, real sturgeon. . . ." The man in the white shirt brought in the samovar and a tray with tea-things. "Eat some," said Father Christopher, spreading the caviare on a slice of bread and handing it to Yegorushka.
"And how beautiful she is," thought Yegorushka, remembering her face and smile. Kuzmitchov, too, was probably thinking about the countess. For when the chaise had driven a mile and a half he said: "But doesn't that Kazimir Mihalovitch plunder her right and left! The year before last when, do you remember, I bought some wool from her, he made over three thousand from my purchase alone."
Tit came up to the bedside on his thin little legs and waved his arms, then grew up to the ceiling and turned into a windmill. . . . Father Christopher, not as he was in the chaise, but in his full vestments with the sprinkler in his hand, walked round the mill, sprinkling it with holy water, and it left off waving. Yegorushka, knowing this was delirium, opened his eyes.
All except Panteley sat down near the cauldron and set to work with their spoons. "You there! Give the little lad a spoon!" Panteley observed sternly. "I dare say he is hungry too!" "Ours is peasant fare," sighed Kiruha. "Peasant fare is welcome, too, when one is hungry." They gave Yegorushka a spoon.
From their fluster and the broken phrases they uttered it was apparent they foresaw some trouble. Before they set off on their way, Dymov went up to Panteley and asked softly: "What's his name?" "Yegory," answered Panteley. Dymov put one foot on the wheel, caught hold of the cord which was tied round the bales and pulled himself up. Yegorushka saw his face and curly head.
"Grandfather, I'm cold," he said, shivering and thrusting his hands up his sleeves. "Never mind, we shall soon be there," yawned Panteley. "Never mind, you will get warm." It must have been early when the waggons set off, for it was not hot. Yegorushka lay on the bales of wool and shivered with cold, though the sun soon came out and dried his clothes, the bales, and the earth.
"I say, which of us will get to the sedge first?" he said. Yegorushka was exhausted by the heat and drowsiness, but he raced off after him all the same. Deniska was in his twentieth year, was a coachman and going to be married, but he had not left off being a boy.
One is reminded of the solitude awaiting each one of us in the grave, and the reality of life seems awful . . . full of despair. . . . Yegorushka thought of his grandmother, who was sleeping now under the cherry-trees in the cemetery.
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