think of the doctor's wife--how blue her hands were from the cold
water--would you believe it, I forget myself and stand senseless
like a fool, until the sacristan calls to me. . . . It's awful!"

Father Yakov began walking about again.

"Lord Jesus!" he said, waving his hands, "holy Saints! I can't
officiate properly. . . . Here you talk to me about the school, and
I sit like a dummy and don't understand a word, and think of nothing
but food. . . . Even before the altar. . . . But . . . what am I
doing?" Father Yakov pulled himself up suddenly. "You want to go
out. Forgive me, I meant nothing. . . . Excuse . . ."

Kunin shook hands with Father Yakov without speaking, saw him into
the hall, and going back into his study, stood at the window. He
saw Father Yakov go out of the house, pull his wide-brimmed
rusty-looking hat over his eyes, and slowly, bowing his head, as
though ashamed of his outburst, walk along the road.

"I don't see his horse," thought Kunin.

Kunin did not dare to think that the priest had come on foot every
day to see him; it was five or six miles to Sinkino, and the mud
on the road was impassable. Further on he saw the coachman Andrey
and the boy Paramon, jumping over the puddles and splashing Father
Yakov with mud, run up to him for his blessing. Father Yakov took
off his hat and slowly blessed Andrey, then blessed the boy and
stroked his head.

Kunin passed his hand over his eyes, and it seemed to him that his