someone had seen. There were a number of wits in the company—a class which is always represented in Little Russia.
The philosopher took his place with the rest in the great circle which sat round the kitchen door in the open-air. Soon an old woman with a red cap issued from it, bearing with both hands a large vessel full of hot "galuchkis," which she distributed among them. Each drew out of his pocket a wooden spoon, or a one-pronged wooden fork. As soon as their jaws began to move a little more slowly, and their wolfish hunger was somewhat appeased, they began to talk. The conversation, as might be expected, turned on the dead girl.
"Is it true," said a young shepherd, "is it true—though I cannot understand it—that our young mistress had traffic with evil spirits?"
"Who, the young lady?" answered Dorosch, whose acquaintance the philosopher had already made in the kibitka. "Yes, she was a regular witch! I can swear that she was a witch!"
"Hold your tongue, Dorosch!" exclaimed another—the one who, during the journey, had played the part of a consoler. "We have nothing to do with that. May God be merciful to her! One ought not to talk of such things."
But Dorosch was not at all inclined to be silent; he had just visited the wine-cellar with the steward on important business, and having
