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asked a question he answers quite rationally and politely； but briefly。
There is a rumour going about in the village that his daughter…in…law
turns him out of the house and gives him nothing to eat； and that he is fed
by charity； some are glad； others are sorry for him。
Varvara has grown even fatter and whiter； and as before she is active in
good works； and Aksinya does not interfere with her。
There is so much jam now that they have not time to eat it before the
fresh fruit comes in； it goes sugary； and Varvara almost sheds tears； not
knowing what to do with it。
They have begun to forget about Anisim。 A letter has come from him
written in verse on a big sheet of paper as though it were a petition； all in
the same splendid handwriting。 Evidently his friend Samorodov was
sharing his punishment。 Under the verses in an ugly； scarcely legible
handwriting there was a single line： 〃I am ill here all the time； I am
wretched； for Christ's sake help me！〃
Towards evening it was a fine autumn day old Tsybukin was
sitting near the church gates； with the collar of his fur coat turned up and
nothing of him could be seen but his nose and the peak of his cap。 At the
other end of the long seat was sitting Elizarov the contractor； and beside
him Yakov the school watchman； a toothless old man of seventy。 Crutch
and the watchman were talking。
〃Children ought to give food and drink to the old。 。 。 。 Honour thy
father and mother 。 。 。〃 Yakov was saying with irritation； 〃while she； this
daughter…in…law； has turned her father…in…law out of his own house； the old
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man has neither food nor drink； where is he to go？ He has not had a
morsel for these three days。〃
〃Three days！〃 said Crutch； amazed。
〃Here he sits and does not say a word。 He has grown feeble。 And why
be silent？ He ought to prosecute her； they wouldn't flatter her in the police
court。〃
〃Wouldn't flatter whom？〃 asked Crutch； not hearing。
〃What？〃
〃The woman's all right； she does her best。 In their line of business they
can't get on without that 。 。 。 without sin； I mean。 。 。 。〃
〃From his own house；〃 Yakov went on with irritation。 〃Save up and
buy your own house； then turn people out of it！ She is a nice one； to be
sure！ A pla…ague！〃
Tsybukin listened and did not stir。
〃Whether it is your own house or others' it makes no difference so long
as it is warm and the women don't scold 。 。 。〃 said Crutch； and he laughed。
〃When I was young I was very fond of my Nastasya。 She was a quiet
woman。 And she used to be always at it： 'Buy a house； Makaritch！ Buy a
house； Makaritch！ Buy a house； Makaritch！' She was dying and yet she
kept on saying； 'Buy yourself a racing droshky； Makaritch； that you may
not have to walk。' And I bought her nothing but gingerbread。〃
〃Her husband's deaf and stupid；〃 Yakov went on； not hearing Crutch；
〃a regular fool； just like a goose。 He can't understand anything。 Hit a goose
on the head with a stick and even then it does not understand。〃
Crutch got up to go home to the factory。 Yakov also got up； and both
of them went off together； still talking。 When they had gone fifty paces old
Tsybukin got up； too； and walked after them； stepping uncertainly as
though on slippery ice。
The village was already plunged in the dusk of evening and the sun
only gleamed on the upper part of the road which ran wriggling like a
snake up the slope。 Old women were coming back from the woods and
children with them； they were bringing baskets of mushrooms。 Peasant
women and girls came in a crowd from the station where they had been
loading the trucks with bricks； and their noses and their cheeks under their
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THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES
eyes were covered with red brick…dust。 They were singing。 Ahead of them
all was Lipa singing in a high voice； with her eyes turned upwards to the
sky； breaking into trills as though triumphant and ecstatic that at last the
day was over and she could rest。 In the crowd was her mother Praskovya；
who was walking with a bundle in her arms and breathless as usual。
〃Good…evening； Makaritch！ 〃 cried Lipa； seeing Crutch。 〃Good…
evening； darling！〃
〃Good…evening； Lipinka；〃 cried Crutch delighted。 〃Dear girls and
women； love the rich carpenter！ Ho…ho！ My little children； my little
children。 （Crutch gave a gulp。） My dear little axes！〃
Crutch and Yakov went on further and could still be heard talking。
Then after them the crowd was met by old Tsybukin and there was a
sudden hush。 Lipa and Praskovya had dropped a little behind； and when
the old man was on a level with them Lipa bowed down low and said：
〃Good…evening； Grigory Petrovitch。〃
Her mother； too； bowed down。 The old man stopped and； saying
nothing； looked at the two in silence； his lips were quivering and his eyes
full of tears。 Lipa took out of her mother's bundle a piece of savoury
turnover and gave it him。 He took it and began eating。
The sun had by now set： its glow died away on the road above。 It grew
dark and cool。 Lipa and Praskovya walked on and for some time they kept
crossing themselves。
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THE HUNTSMAN
A SULTRY； stifling midday。 Not a cloudlet in the sky。 。 。 。 The sun…
baked grass had a disconsolate； hopeless look： even if there were rain it
could never be green again。 。 。 。 The forest stood silent； motionless； as
though it were looking at something with its tree…tops or expecting
something。
At the edge of the clearing a tall； narrow…shouldered man of forty in a
red shirt； in patched trousers that had been a gentleman's； and in high
boots； was slouching along with a lazy； shambling step。 He was sauntering
along the road。 On the right was the green of the clearing； on the left a
golden sea of ripe rye stretched to the very horizon。 He was red and
perspiring； a white cap with a straight jockey peak； evidently a gift