"It's a good knife," Nikolay insisted. Pavel laughed, too.
Vyesovshchikov stopped in the middle of the room and asked:
"Are you laughing at me?"
"Of course," replied the Little Russian, jumping out of bed. "I'll
tell you what! Let's take a walk in the fields! The night is fine;
there's bright moonshine. Let's go!"
"All right," said Pavel.
"And I'll go with you, too!" declared Nikolay. "I like to hear you
laugh, Little Russian."
"And I like to hear you promise presents," answered the Little
Russian, smiling.
While Andrey was dressing in the kitchen, the mother scolded him:
"Dress warmer! You'll get sick." And when they all had left, she
watched them through the window; then looked at the ikon, and said
softly: "God help them!"
She turned off the lamp and began to pray alone in the moonlit room.
The days flew by in such rapid succession that the mother could not
give much thought to the first of May. Only at night, when,
exhausted by the noise and the exciting bustle of the day, she went
to bed, tired and worn out, her heart would begin to ache.
"Oh, dear, if it would only be over soon!"
At dawn, when the factory whistle blew, the son and the Little
Russian, after hastily drinking tea and snatching a bite, would go,
leaving a dozen or so small commissions for the mother.
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