you! I'll go to the officer; I promised to take him
out shooting. He seems a good fellow.'

Chapter XVII

From Eroshka's hut Lukashka went home. As he returned, the dewy mists
were rising from the ground and enveloped the village. In various
places the cattle, though out of sight, could be heard beginning to
stir. The cocks called to one another with increasing frequency and
insistence. The air was becoming more transparent, and the villagers
were getting up. Not till he was close to it could Lukishka discern the
fence of his yard, all wet with dew, the porch of the hut, and the open
shed. From the misty yard he heard the sound of an axe chopping wood.
Lukashka entered the hut. His mother was up, and stood at the oven
throwing wood into it. His little sister was still lying in bed asleep.

'Well, Lukashka, had enough holiday-making?' asked his mother softly.
'Where did you spend the night?'

'I was in the village,' replied her son reluctantly, reaching for his
musket, which he drew from its cover and examined carefully.

His mother swayed her head.

Lukashka poured a little gunpowder onto the pan, took out a little bag
from which he drew some empty cartridge cases which he began filling,
carefully plugging each one with a ball wrapped in a rag. Then, having
tested the loaded cartridges with his teeth and examined them, he put
down the bag.

'I say, Mother, I told you the bags wanted mending; have they been
done?' he asked.

'Oh yes, our dumb girl was mending something last night. Why, is it
time for you to be going back to the cordon? I haven't seen anything of
you!'

'Yes, as soon as I have got ready I shall have to go,' answered
Lukashka, tying up the gunpowder. 'And where is our dumb one? Outside?'

'Chopping wood, I expect. She kept fretting for you. "I shall not see
him at all!" she said. She puts her hand to her face like this, and
clicks her tongue and presses her hands to her heart as much as to
say--"sorry." Shall I call her in? She understood all about the abrek.'

'Call her,' said Lukashka. 'And I had some tallow there; bring it: I
must grease my sword.'

The old woman went out, and a few minutes later Lukashka's dumb sister
came up the creaking steps and entered the hut. She was six years older
than her brother and would have been extremely like him had it not been
for the dull and coarsely changeable expression (common to all deaf and
dumb people) of her face. She wore a coarse smock