"You've a cross one!" said the postman, with a grin. "Have you been
married long?"

"It was three years ago the last Sunday before Lent. My father was
sexton here in the old days, and when the time came for him to die,
he went to the Consistory and asked them to send some unmarried man to
marry me that I might keep the place. So I married him."

"Aha, so you killed two birds with one stone!" said the postman, looking
at Savely's back. "Got wife and job together."

Savely wriggled his leg impatiently and moved closer to the wall.
The postman moved away from the table, stretched, and sat down on the
mail-bag. After a moment's thought he squeezed the bags with his hands,
shifted his sword to the other side, and lay down with one foot touching
the floor.

"It's a dog's life," he muttered, putting his hands behind his head and
closing his eyes. "I wouldn't wish a wild Tatar such a life."

Soon everything was still. Nothing was audible except the sniffing
of Savely and the slow, even breathing of the sleeping postman, who
uttered a deep prolonged "h-h-h" at every breath. From time to time
there was a sound like a creaking wheel in his throat, and his twitching
foot rustled against the bag.

Savely fidgeted under the quilt and looked round slowly. His wife was
sitting on the stool, and with her hands pressed against her cheeks was
gazing at the postman's face. Her face was immovable, like the face of