"I wonder how it looks in Podyacheskaya Street now, your Excellency,"
one of them said to the other.
"Oh, don't remind me of it, your Excellency. I am pining away with
homesickness."
"It is very nice here. There is really no fault to be found with this
place, but the lamb longs for its mother sheep. And it is a pity, too,
for the beautiful uniforms."
"Yes, indeed, a uniform of the fourth class is no joke. The gold
embroidery alone is enough to make one dizzy."
Now they began to importune the Muzhik to find some way of getting
them back to Podyacheskaya Street, and strange to say, the Muzhik even
knew where Podyacheskaya Street was. He had once drunk beer and mead
there, and as the saying goes, everything had run down his beard,
alas, but nothing into his mouth. The Officials rejoiced and said: "We
are Officials from Podyacheskaya Street."
"And I am one of those men--do you remember?--who sit on a scaffolding
hung by ropes from the roofs and paint the outside walls. I am one of
those who crawl about on the roofs like flies. That is what I am,"
replied the Muzhik.
The Muzhik now pondered long and heavily on how to give great pleasure
to his Officials, who had been so gracious to him, the lazy-bones, and
had not scorned his work.
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