surely be in my dotage to imagine such a thing."
Martin had taken a few more stitches, when his curiosity again forced him to look out of the window. What he saw was Stepanovitch, who, having leaned his shovel against the wall, was either resting or trying to keep himself warm.
"He is an old, broken-down man," Martin thought; "and it must be hard for him to do even such light work as shovelling snow. The samovar is already prepared, and it would be only a kindly act on my part to ask him into have some tea."
Martin, after putting aside his work, placed the steaming samovar on the table and (pouring some more water into the teapot) knocked at the window.
The old man turned around slowly and came toward the window. Martin by signs made him understand what he wanted and went to the door to open it, saying: "Come in, my friend, and
