Nikita went to the snowed-up, illuminated window, in the light of which the little fluttering snowflakes gleamed and sparkled, and tapped with the end of his whip.
"Who is there?" a voice exclaimed in answer to Nikita's summons.
"In the name of the Holy Cross, Brekhunov's people, dear man!" replied Nikita. "Come out for a moment!"
Someone moved away from the window, and the next moment could be heard the creaking of a distant door, then the lifting of a latch in the outhouse, and then, holding the door against the pressure of the wind, an old muzhik with a white beard poked out his head. He wore a high cap, and a short pelisse buttoned over his white Sunday shirt, and behind him was a youth in a red shirt and leather boots.
"At your service!" said the old man.
"The fact is, we have gone astray, my brother," said Vasily Andreich. "We were on our way to Goryachkina, and lighted hither at your place instead. We drove on again, and lo! we have strayed back again to the selfsame spot."
"Well, you have made a mess of it, I see," said the old man. "Pete! go and open the gate," he added, turning to the youth in the red shirt.
"All right," said the youth merrily, and he ran out to the sledge.
"Nay, brother, we will not stay the night," said Vasily Andreich.
"Whither would you go then, with night coming on? Nay, but you must stay!"
27
