“People would find out,” she said.

“No, they wouldn’t.  Dyudya’s an old man, it’s time he did die; and they’d say Alyoshka died of drink.”

“I’m afraid...  God would chastise us.”

“Well, let Him....”

Both lay awake thinking in silence.

“It’s cold,” said Sofya, beginning to shiver all over.  “It will soon be morning....  Are you asleep?”

“No....  Don’t you mind what I say, dear,” whispered Varvara; “I get so mad with the damned brutes, I don’t know what I do say.  Go to sleep, or it will be daylight directly....  Go to sleep.”

Both were quiet and soon they fell asleep.

Earlier than all woke the old woman.  She waked up Sofya and they went together into the cowshed to milk the cows.  The hunchback Alyoshka came in hopelessly drunk without his concertina; his breast and knees had been in the dust and straw—­he must have fallen down in the road.  Staggering, he went into the cowshed, and without undressing he rolled into a sledge and began to snore at once.  When first the crosses on the church and then the windows were flashing in the light of the rising sun, and shadows stretched across the yard over the dewy grass from the trees and the top of the well, Matvey Savitch jumped up and began hurrying about: 

“Kuzka! get up!” he shouted.  “It’s time to put in the horses!  Look sharp!”

The bustle of morning was beginning.  A young Jewess in a brown gown with flounces led a horse into the yard to drink.  The pulley of the well creaked plaintively, the bucket knocked as it went down....

Kuzka, sleepy, tired, covered with dew, sat up in the cart, lazily putting on his little overcoat, and listening to the drip of the water from the bucket into the well as he shivered with the cold.

“Auntie!” shouted Matvey Savitch to Sofya, “tell my lad to hurry up and to harness the horses!”

And Dyudya at the same instant shouted from the window: 

“Sofya, take a farthing from the Jewess for the horse’s drink!  They’re always in here, the mangy creatures!”

In the street sheep were running up and down, baaing; the peasant women were shouting at the shepherd, while he played his pipes, cracked his whip, or answered them in a thick sleepy bass.  Three sheep strayed into the yard, and not finding the gate again, pushed at the fence.

Varvara was waked by the noise, and bundling her bedding up in her arms, she went into the house.

“You might at least drive the sheep out!” the old woman bawled after her, “my lady!”

“I dare say!  As if I were going to slave for you Herods!” muttered Varvara, going into the house.

Dyudya came out of the house with his accounts in his hands, sat down on the step, and began reckoning how much the traveller owed him for the night’s lodging, oats, and watering his horses.

“You charge pretty heavily for the oats, my good man,” said Matvey Savitch.