rutch, too, sat down to have some tea.

"We have been at the fair, you know," he began telling them. "We have
had a walk, a very nice walk, my children, praise the Lord. But an
unfortunate thing happened: Sashka the blacksmith bought some tobacco
and gave the shopman half a rouble to be sure. And the half rouble was
a false one"--Crutch went on, and he meant to speak in a whisper, but
he spoke in a smothered husky voice which was audible to everyone. "The
half-rouble turned out to be a bad one. He was asked where he got it.
'Anisim Tsybukin gave it me,' he said. 'When I went to his wedding,' he
said. They called the police inspector, took the man away.... Look out,
Grigory Petrovitch, that nothing comes of it, no talk...."

"Gra-ndfather!" the same voice called tauntingly outside the gates.
"Gra-andfather!"

A silence followed.

"Ah, little children, little children, little children..." Crutch
muttered rapidly, and he got up. He was overcome with drowsiness. "Well,
thank you for the tea, for the sugar, little children. It is time to
sleep. I am like a bit of rotten timber nowadays, my beams are crumbling
under me. Ho-ho-ho! I suppose it's time I was dead."

And he gave a gulp. Old Tsybukin did not finish his tea but sat on a
little, pondering; and his face looked as though he were listening to
the footsteps of Crutch, who was far away down the street.

"Sashka the blacksmith told a lie, I expect," said Aksinya, guessing his
thoughts.

He went into the house and came back a little later with a parcel; he
opened it, and there was the gleam of roubles--perfectly new coins. He
took one, tried it with his teeth, flung it on the tray; then flung down
another.

"The roubles really are false..." he said, looking at Aksinya and
seeming perplexed. "These are those Anisim brought, his present. Take
them, daughter," he whispered, and thrust the parcel into her hands.
"Take them and throw them into the well... confound them! And mind
there is no talk about it. Harm might come of it.... Take away the
samovar, put out the light."

Lipa and her mother sitting in the barn saw the lights go out one after
the other; only overhead in Varvara's room there were blue and red lamps
gleaming, and a feeling of peace, content, and happy ignorance seemed to
float down from there. Praskovya could never get used to her daughter's
being married to a rich man, and when she came she huddled timidly in
the outer room with a deprecating smile