Matrena put away the bread, and sat down at the table to sew a patch on to her husband's shirt. She sewed and sewed, and all the time she thought of her husband, and how he had gone to buy a sheep-skin for a pelisse.
"I hope the sheepskin-seller won't cheat him, for my old man really is very simple. He cheats nobody himself, and a little child might lead him by the nose. Eight roubles. That is no small amount of money. One should get a good pelisse for that. If not of the very best quality, at least a pelisse of some sort. I went through last winter as best I could without a pelisse. I could go nowhither, not even to the brook. And lo now! he has left the house, and has put on every stitch we have. I have nothing to put on at all. He's a long time coming. 'Tis time he was here now. I hope my little falcon has not gone astray somewhere."
While Matrena was still thinking these thoughts, there was a scraping on the staircase steps; somebody was coming in. Matrena stuck her needle into her work, and went out into the passage. She looked. Two were coming—Simon, and with him some sort of a man without a cap, and in felt boots.
All at once Matrena noticed the breath of her husband. "Yes, that's it," she thought, "he's been on the drink." And when she perceived that he was without his kaftan, in his jacket alone, and carried nothing in his hand, and was silent, but pulled a wry face, Matrena's heart was hot within her. "He has drunk away the money," she thought; "he has been wandering about with some vagabond or other, and
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