"Don't say a word," added Nikita, "see what he does! Bless you, he knows! That's it, that's it!"
The wind was now blowing behind their backs; it began to be warmer.
"Oh! he's a knowing one," continued Nikita, delighted to crack up his horse, "a Kirghiz nag may be as strong, but it is a fool to him. Look how his ears are working. He needs no telegraph post, not he! He can scent the road a mile off."
And not half an hour had passed before something black really loomed out in front of them — a wood, perhaps, or a village; and on the right side of the way the posts again appeared. Evidently they had once more got upon the road.
"Why, if it is not Grishkino again!" suddenly exclaimed Nikita.
And indeed, to the left of them, there was now that same row of buildings from which the snow drifted, and further on was that same rope with the frozen clothes, the shirts and breeches, all of which were still dancing frantically in the wind.
Again they drove into the main street; again they felt it quiet, warm, and pleasant there; again the dung-strewn road was visible; again were to be heard voices, songs, and the barking of dogs. Already it was sufficiently dark for lights to be burning in some of the windows.
In the middle of the street of the village Vasily Andreich turned the horse in the direction of a large house with two brick wings, and made it stop in front of the door.
"Go and call Taras!" he shouted to Nikita.
26
