"What an infliction it is, this weather!" sighed Raissa.

"H'm, yes.... Who may you be?"

"We? We live here, by the church.... We belong to the clergy.... There
lies my husband. Savely, get up and say good-evening! This used to be
a separate parish till eighteen months ago. Of course, when the gentry
lived here there were more people, and it was worth while to have the
services. But now the gentry have gone, and I need not tell you there's
nothing for the clergy to live on. The nearest village is Markovka, and
that's over three miles away. Savely is on the retired list now, and has
got the watchman's job; he has to look after the church...."

And the postman was immediately informed that if Savely were to go to
the General's lady and ask her for a letter to the bishop, he would be
given a good berth. "But he doesn't go to the General's lady because he
is lazy and afraid of people. We belong to the clergy all the same..."
added Raissa.

"What do you live on?" asked the postman.

"There's a kitchen garden and a meadow belonging to the church. Only
we don't get much from that," sighed Raissa. "The old skinflint, Father
Nikodim, from the next village celebrates here on St. Nicolas' Day in
the winter and on St. Nicolas' Day in the summer, and for that he takes
almost all the crops for himself. There's no one to stick up for us!"

"You are lying," Savely growled hoarsely. "Father Nikodim is a saintly
soul, a luminary of the Church; and if he does take it, it's the
regulation!"