the house-porter. He began to clear away the snow before Martin's window. Martin glanced at him and then went on with his work.
'I must be growing crazy with age,' said Martin, laughing at his fancy. 'Stepánitch comes to clear away the snow, and I must needs imagine it's Christ coming to visit me. Old dotard that I am!'
Yet after he had made a dozen stitches he felt drawn to look out of the window again. He saw that Stepánitch had leaned his spade against the wall, and was either resting himself or trying to get warm. The man was old and broken down, and had evidently not enough strength even to clear away the snow.
'What if I called him in and gave him some tea?' thought Martin. 'The samovár is just on the boil.'
He stuck his awl in its place, and rose; and putting the samovár on the table, made tea. Then he tapped the window with his fingers. Stepánitch turned and came to the window. Martin beckoned to him to come in, and went himself to open the door.
'Come in,' he said, 'and warm yourself a bit. I'm sure you must be cold.'
'May God bless you!' Stepánitch answered. 'My bones do ache to be sure.' He came in, first shaking off the snow, and lest he should leave marks on the floor he began wiping his feet; but as he did so he tottered and nearly fell.
'Don't trouble to wipe your feet,' said Martin; 'I'll wipe up the floor—it's all in the day's work. Come, friend, sit down and have some tea.'
Filling two tumblers, he passed one to his visitor, and pouring his own out into the saucer, began to blow on it.
Stepánitch emptied his glass, and, turning it upside down, put the remains of his piece of sugar on the top. He began to express his thanks, but it was plain that he would be glad of some more.
'Have another glass,' said Martin, refilling the visitor's tumbler and his own. But while he drank his tea Martin kept looking out into the street.
