watchman.

"There are pilgrims of different sorts. There are the real ones who
are God-fearing men and watch over their own souls, and there are
such as stray about the graveyard at night and are a delight to the
devils. . . Ye-es! There's one who is a pilgrim could give you a
crack on the pate with an axe if he liked and knock the breath out
of you."

"What are you talking like that for?"

"Oh, nothing . . . Why, I fancy here's the gate. Yes, it is. Open
it, good man."

The watchman, feeling his way, opens the gate, leads the pilgrim
out by the sleeve, and says:

"Here's the end of the graveyard. Now you must keep on through the
open fields till you get to the main road. Only close here there
will be the boundary ditch--don't fall in. . . . And when you
come out on to the road, turn to the right, and keep on till you
reach the mill. . . ."

"O-o-oh!" sighs the pilgrim after a pause, "and now I am thinking
that I have no cause to go to Mitrievsky Mill. . . . Why the devil
should I go there? I had better stay a bit with you here, sir. . . ."

"What do you want to stay with me for?"

"Oh . . . it's merrier with you! . . . ."