skin stretched from the head along the
bench; it was a peasant woman asleep.

The old woman went out sighing, and came back with a big water melon
and a little sweet melon.

"Have something to eat, my dear! I have nothing else to offer you,
. . ." she said, yawning. She rummaged in the table and took out a
long sharp knife, very much like the one with which the brigands
killed the merchants in the inn. "Have some, my dear!"

Yegorushka, shivering as though he were in a fever, ate a slice of
sweet melon with black bread and then a slice of water melon, and
that made him feel colder still.

"Our lads are out on the steppe for the night, . . ." sighed the
old woman while he was eating. "The terror of the Lord! I'd light
the candle under the ikon, but I don't know where Stepanida has put
it. Have some more, little sir, have some more. . . ."

The old woman gave a yawn and, putting her right hand behind her,
scratched her left shoulder.

"It must be two o'clock now," she said; "it will soon be time to
get up. Our lads are out on the steppe for the night; they are all
wet through for sure. . . ."

"Granny," said Yegorushka. "I am sleepy."

"Lie down, my dear, lie down," the old woman sighed, yawning. "Lord
Jesus Christ! I was asleep, when I heard a noise as though someone
were knocking. I woke up and looked, and it was the storm God had
sent us. . . . I'd have lighted the candle, but I couldn't find
it."

Talking to herself, she pulled some rags, probably her own bed, off
the bench, took two sheepskins off a nail by the stove, and began
laying them out for a bed for Yegorushka. "The storm doesn't grow
less," she muttered. "If only nothing's struck in an unlucky hour.
Our lads are out on the steppe for the night. Lie down and sleep,
my dear. . . . Christ be with you, my child. . . . I won't take
away the melon; maybe you'll have a bit when you get up."

The sighs and yawns of the old woman, the even breathing of the
sleeping woman, the half-darkness of the hut, and the sound of the
rain outside, made one sleepy. Yegorushka was shy of undressing
before the old woman. He only took off his boots, lay down and
covered himself with the sheepskin.

"Is the little lad lying down?" he heard Panteley whisper a little
later.

"Yes," answered the old woman in a whisper. "The terror of the Lord!
It thunders and thunders, and there is no end to it."

"It will soon be over," wheezed Panteley, sitting down; "it's getting
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