their uninvited visitors had gone away; the rivulet babbled, lisping
softly, but all these sounds did not break the stillness, did not
stir the stagnation, but, on the contrary, lulled all nature to
slumber.

Yegorushka, gasping with the heat, which was particularly oppressive
after a meal, ran to the sedge and from there surveyed the country.
He saw exactly the same as he had in the morning: the plain, the
low hills, the sky, the lilac distance; only the hills stood nearer;
and he could not see the windmill, which had been left far behind.
From behind the rocky hill from which the stream flowed rose another,
smoother and broader; a little hamlet of five or six homesteads
clung to it. No people, no trees, no shade were to be seen about
the huts; it looked as though the hamlet had expired in the burning
air and was dried up. To while away the time Yegorushka caught a
grasshopper in the grass, held it in his closed hand to his ear,
and spent a long time listening to the creature playing on its
instrument. When he was weary of its music he ran after a flock of
yellow butterflies who were flying towards the sedge on the
watercourse, and found himself again beside the chaise, without
noticing how he came there. His uncle and Father Christopher were
sound asleep; their sleep would be sure to last two or three hours
till the horses had rested. . . . How was he to get through that
long time, and where was he to get away from the heat? A hard
problem. . . . Mechanically Yegorushka put his lips to the trickle
that ran from the waterpipe; there was a chilliness in his mouth
and there was the smell of hemlock. He drank at first eagerly, then
went on with effort till the sharp cold had run from his mouth all
over his body and the water was spilt on his shirt. Then he went
up to the chaise and began looking at the sleeping figures. His