ron," went on the old woman.

"Hm, iron! why iron?" said Ivan Ivanovitch. "Has your master had it
long?"

"Yes; long, perhaps."

"It's a nice gun!" continued Ivan Ivanovitch. "I will ask him for it.
What can he want with it? I'll make an exchange with him for it. Is your
master at home, my good woman?"

"Yes."

"What is he doing? lying down?"

"Yes, lying down."

"Very well, I will come to him."

Ivan Ivanovitch dressed himself, took his well-seasoned stick for the
benefit of the dogs, for, in Mirgorod, there are more dogs than people
to be met in the street, and went out.

Although Ivan Nikiforovitch's house was next door to Ivan Ivanovitch's,
so that you could have got from one to the other by climbing the fence,
yet Ivan Ivanovitch went by way of the street. From the street it
was necessary to turn into an alley which was so narrow that if two
one-horse carts chanced to meet they could not get out, and were forced
to remain there until the drivers, seizing the hind-wheels, dragged them
back in opposite directions into the street, whilst pedestrians
drew aside like flowers growing by the fence on either hand. Ivan
Ivanovitch's waggon-shed adjoined this alley on one side; and on the
other were Ivan Nikiforovitch's granary, gate, and pigeon-house.

Ivan Ivanovitch went up to the gate and rattled the latch. Within arose
the barking of dogs; but the motley-haired pack ran back, wagging their
tails when they saw the well-known face. Ivan Ivanovitch traversed
the courtyard, in which were collected Indian doves, fed by Ivan
Nikiforovitch's own hand, melon-rinds, vegetables, broken wheels,
barrel-hoops, and a small boy wallowing with dirty blouse--a picture
such as painters love. The shadows of the fluttering clothes covered
nearly the whole of the yard and lent it a degree of coolness. The woman
greeted him with a bend of her head and stood, gaping, in one spot.
The front of the house was adorned with a small porch, with its roof
supported on two oak pillars--a welcome protection from the sun, which
at that season in Little Russia loves not to jest, and bathes the
pedestrian from head to foot in perspiration. It may be judged how
powerful Ivan Ivanovitch's desire to obtain the coveted article was when
he made up his mind, at such an hour, to depart from his usual custom,
which was to walk abroad only in the evening.

The room which Ivan Ivanovitch entered was quite dark, for the shutters
were closed; and the r