“Come, drink a little more,” said Avdyeeich.  But Stepanuich crossed himself, expressed his thanks, pushed away his cup, and got up.

“I thank thee, Martin Avdyeeich.  I have fared well at thy hands, and thou hast refreshed me both in body and soul.”

“Thou wilt show me a kindness by coming again.  I am so glad to have a guest,” said Avdyeeich.  Stepanuich departed, and Martin poured out the last drop of tea, drank it, washed up, and again sat down by the window to work—­he had some back-stitching to do.  He stitched and stitched, and now and then cast glances at the window—­he was looking for Christ, and could think of nothing but Him and His works.  And the divers sayings of Christ were in his head all the time.

Two soldiers passed by, one in regimental boots, the other in boots of his own making; after that, the owner of the next house passed by in nicely brushed goloshes.  A baker with a basket also passed by.  All these passed by in turn, and then there came alongside the window a woman in worsted stockings and rustic shoes, and as she was passing by she stopped short in front of the partition wall.  Avdyeeich looked up at her from his window, and he saw that the woman was a stranger and poorly clad, and that she had a little child with her.  She was leaning up against the wall with her back to the wind, and tried to wrap the child up, but she had nothing to wrap it up with.  The woman wore summer clothes, and thin enough they were.  And from out of his corner Avdyeeich heard the child crying and the woman trying to comfort it, but she could not.  Then Avdyeeich got up, went out of the door and on to the steps, and cried, “My good woman!  My good woman!”

The woman heard him and turned round.  “Why dost thou stand out in the cold there with the child?  Come inside!  In the warm room thou wilt be better able to tend him.  This way!”

The woman was amazed.  What she saw was an old fellow in an apron and with glasses on his nose calling to her.  She came towards him.  They went down the steps together—­they went into the room.  The old man led the woman to the bed.  “There,” said he, “sit down, gossip, nearer to the stove, and warm and feed thy little one....”

He went to the table, got some bread and a dish, opened the oven door, put some cabbage soup into the dish, took out a pot of gruel, but it was not quite ready, so he put some cabbage soup only into the dish, and placed it on the table.  Then he fetched bread, took down the cloth from the hook, and spread it on the table.

“Sit down and have something to eat, gossip,” said he, “and I will sit down a little with the youngster.  I have had children of my own, and know how to manage them.”  The woman crossed herself, sat down at the table, and began to eat, and Avdyeeich sat down on the bed with the child.  Avdyeeich smacked his lips at him again and again, but his lack of teeth made it a clumsy joke at best.  And all the time the child never