profits and losses, again he began to exalt himself for his own satisfaction, and rejoice in himself and his position—but now, through it all, he was constantly interrupted by a subtly creeping fear, and the irritating thought: "Why did I not stay and sleep at Grishkino?" Now and then he would turn him round, rearrange his things, and try and find a more comfortable position—a position more sheltered from the wind. But he never could manage it, everything seemed wrong. Again he raised himself up, changed his position, wrapped his feet up again, closed his eyes, and lay still. But either his feet, cramped in his big, stiff top-boots, began to ache, or a blast blew upon him from some whither, and he couldn't lie long in one place; and again came the angry reflection how he might now be lying comfortably in a warm room at Grishkino; and again he would raise himself and turn round and rearrange his wraps, and again lay him down.
Once it seemed to Vasily Andreich as if he heard far, far away the crowing of cocks. Full of joy, he turned down his fur collar and strained his ears to listen, but no sooner did he bend all his faculties to listen, than there was nothing to be heard except the sound of the wind whistling in the shafts, and the snow pattering against the sides of the sledge. Nikita was sitting just as he had sat the evening before, without moving, and not even replying to the observations of Vasily Andreich, who once or twice called out to him. "There's very little the matter with him, he must be asleep surely," thought Vasily Andreich peevishly, looking through the back of the
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