From the garden gate emerged the Father Prebendary himself, accompanied by the sexton.  Seeing the attention directed upon his abode and wondering what people were staring at, he stopped, and he, too, as well as the sexton, began looking upwards to find out.

“The father is going to a service somewhere, I suppose,” said Potcheshihin.  “The Lord be his succour!”

Some workmen from Purov’s factory, who had been bathing in the river, passed between the friends and the priest.  Seeing the latter absorbed in contemplation of the heavens and the pilgrim women, too, standing motionless with their eyes turned upwards, they stood still and stared in the same direction.

A small boy leading a blind beggar and a peasant, carrying a tub of stinking fish to throw into the market-place, did the same.

“There must be something the matter, I should think,” said Potcheshihin, “a fire or something.  But there’s no sign of smoke anywhere.  Hey!  Kuzma!” he shouted to the peasant, “what’s the matter?”

The peasant made some reply, but Potcheshihin and Optimov did not catch it.  Sleepy-looking shopmen made their appearance at the doors of all the shops.  Some plasterers at work on a warehouse near left their ladders and joined the workmen.

The fireman, who was describing circles with his bare feet, on the watch-tower, halted, and, after looking steadily at them for a few minutes, came down.  The watch-tower was left deserted.  This seemed suspicious.

“There must be a fire somewhere.  Don’t shove me!  You damned swine!”

“Where do you see the fire?  What fire?  Pass on, gentlemen!  I ask you civilly!”

“It must be a fire indoors!”

“Asks us civilly and keeps poking with his elbows.  Keep your hands to yourself!  Though you are a head constable, you have no sort of right to make free with your fists!”

“He’s trodden on my corn!  Ah!  I’ll crush you!”

“Crushed?  Who’s crushed?  Lads! a man’s been crushed!

“What’s the meaning of this crowd?  What do you want?”

“A man’s been crushed, please your honour!”

“Where?  Pass on!  I ask you civilly!  I ask you civilly, you blockheads!”

“You may shove a peasant, but you daren’t touch a gentleman!  Hands off!”

“Did you ever know such people?  There’s no doing anything with them by fair words, the devils!  Sidorov, run for Akim Danilitch!  Look sharp!  It’ll be the worse for you, gentlemen!  Akim Danilitch is coming, and he’ll give it to you!  You here, Parfen?  A blind man, and at his age too!  Can’t see, but he must be like other people and won’t do what he’s told.  Smirnov, put his name down!”

“Yes, sir!  And shall I write down the men from Purov’s?  That man there with the swollen cheek, he’s from Purov’s works.”

“Don’t put down the men from Purov’s.  It’s Purov’s birthday to-morrow.”

The starlings rose in a black cloud from the Father Prebendary’s garden, but Potcheshihin and Optimov did not notice them.  They stood staring into the air, wondering what could have attracted such a crowd, and what it was looking at.