'I just don't drink,' replied Nikita without lifting his eyes but
looking askance at his scanty beard and moustache and getting the
icicles out of them.

'It's not good for him,' said Vasili Andreevich, munching a cracknel
after emptying his glass.

'Well, then, have some tea,' said the kindly old hostess. 'You must
be chilled through, good soul. Why are you women dawdling so with the
samovar?'

'It is ready,' said one of the young women, and after flicking with her
apron the top of the samovar which was now boiling over, she carried it
with an effort to the table, raised it, and set it down with a thud.

Meanwhile Vasili Andreevich was telling how he had lost his way, how
they had come back twice to this same village, and how they had gone
astray and had met some drunken peasants. Their hosts were surprised,
explained where and why they had missed their way, said who the tipsy
people they had met were, and told them how they ought to go.

'A little child could find the way to Molchanovka from here. All you
have to do is to take the right turning from the high road. There's a
bush you can see just there. But you didn't even get that far!' said the
neighbour.

'You'd better stay the night. The women will make up beds for you,' said
the old woman persuasively.