"Riches!" thought the merchant; "a new house!" He was very much
surprised, but as he drove along the road he was more surprised still.
For he passed all the villagers on their way to the feast; and every
one was talking of his brother, and how kind he was and how generous,
and what a feast there was going to be, and how many barrels of mead
and, wine had been taken up to the house. All the folk were hurrying
along the road licking their lips, each one going faster than the
other so as to be sure not to miss any of the good things.

The rich brother from the town drove with his wife into the courtyard
of the fine new house. And there on the steps was the peasant brother,
Ivan Ilyitch, and his wife, receiving their guests. And if the rich
brother was well dressed, the peasant was better dressed; and if the
rich brother's wife was in her fine clothes, the peasant's wife fairly
glittered--what with the gold braid on her bosom and the shining
silver in her hair.

And the peasant brother kissed his brother from the town on both
cheeks, and gave him and his wife the best places at the table. He fed
them--ah, how he fed them!--with little red slips of smoked salmon,
and beetroot soup with cream, and slabs of sturgeon, and meats of
three or four kinds, and game and sweetmeats of the best. There never
was such a feast--no, not even at the wedding of a Tzar. And as for
drink, there were red wine and white wine, and beer and mead in great
barrels, and everywhere the peasant went about among his guests,
filling glasses and seeing that their plates were kept piled with the
foods each one liked best.

And the rich brother wondered and wondered, and at last he could wait