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“Good-evening, Makaritch! ” cried Lipa, seeing Crutch.”Good-evening, darling!”

“Good-evening, Lipinka,” cried Crutch delighted.”Dear girls and women, love the rich carpenter! Ho-ho! My little children, my little children. (Crutch gave a gulp. ) My dear little axes!”

Crutch and Yakov went on further and could still be heard talking. Then after them the crowd was met by old Tsybukin and there was a sudden hush. Lipa and Praskovya had dropped a little behind, and when the old man was on a level with them Lipa bowed down low and said:

“Good-evening, Grigory Petrovitch.”

Her mother, too, bowed down. The old man stopped and, saying nothing, looked at the two in silence; his lips were quivering and his eyes full of tears. Lipa took out of her mother’s bundle a piece of savoury turnover and gave it him. He took it and began eating.

The sun had by now set: its glow died away on the road above. It grew dark and cool. Lipa and Praskovya walked on and for some time they kept crossing themselves.