himself, and drank it off at a draught. 'Good!' was his comment.

The miller's wife sat down again on the tub.

'Well, Arina Timofyevna, are you still ill?'

'Yes.'

'What is it?'

'My cough troubles me at night.'

'The gentleman's asleep, it seems,' observed Yermolai after a short
silence. 'Don't go to a doctor, Arina; it will be worse if you do.'

'Well, I am not going.'

'But come and pay me a visit.'

Arina hung down her head dejectedly.

'I will drive my wife out for the occasion,' continued Yermolai 'Upon
my word, I will.'

'You had better wake the gentleman, Yermolai Petrovitch; you see, the
potatoes are done.'

'Oh, let him snore,' observed my faithful servant indifferently; 'he's
tired with walking, so he sleeps sound.'