Both stopped by the barn and went on.

“I lo-ove the flowers of the fi-ield,” the old man began singing suddenly in a high, piercing tenor.  “I lo-ove to gather them in the meadows!”

Then he spat, and with a filthy oath went into the hut.

IV

Granny put Sasha by her kitchen-garden and told her to keep watch that the geese did not go in.  It was a hot August day.  The tavernkeeper’s geese could make their way into the kitchen-garden by the backs of the huts, but now they were busily engaged picking up oats by the tavern, peacefully conversing together, and only the gander craned his head high as though trying to see whether the old woman were coming with her stick.  The other geese might come up from below, but they were now grazing far away the other side of the river, stretched out in a long white garland about the meadow.  Sasha stood about a little, grew weary, and, seeing that the geese were not coming, went away to the ravine.

There she saw Marya’s eldest daughter Motka, who was standing motionless on a big stone, staring at the church.  Marya had given birth to thirteen children, but she only had six living, all girls, not one boy, and the eldest was eight.  Motka in a long smock was standing barefooted in the full sunshine; the sun was blazing down right on her head, but she did not notice that, and seemed as though turned to stone.  Sasha stood beside her and said, looking at the church: 

“God lives in the church.  Men have lamps and candles, but God has little green and red and blue lamps like little eyes.  At night God walks about the church, and with Him the Holy Mother of God and Saint Nikolay, thud, thud, thud!...  And the watchman is terrified, terrified!  Aye, aye, dearie,” she added, imitating her mother.  “And when the end of the world comes all the churches will be carried up to heaven.”

“With the-ir be-ells?” Motka asked in her deep voice, drawling every syllable.

“With their bells.  And when the end of the world comes the good will go to Paradise, but the angry will burn in fire eternal and unquenchable, dearie.  To my mother as well as to Marya God will say:  ’You never offended anyone, and for that go to the right to Paradise’; but to Kiryak and Granny He will say:  ‘You go to the left into the fire.’  And anyone who has eaten meat in Lent will go into the fire, too.”

She looked upwards at the sky, opening wide her eyes, and said: 

“Look at the sky without winking, you will see angels.”

Motka began looking at the sky, too, and a minute passed in silence.

“Do you see them?” asked Sasha.

“I don’t,” said Motka in her deep voice.

“But I do.  Little angels are flying about the sky and flap, flap with their little wings as though they were gnats.”

Motka thought for a little, with her eyes on the ground, and asked: