“He won’t,” said the big woman.

“He will!” the old man exclaimed confidently.

Somebody else was descending into the ravine; clots of earth were rolling down; the branches of the bushes rustled.

“He will come,” repeated Savel. “Now, go with God’s blessing. All will be well.”

The consumptive woman rose silently and bowed low to the old man. He raised her head with the palm of his hand and said:

“Remember, you carry God in your soul.”

She bowed again and handed him a small bundle.

“May Christ keep you…”

“Thanks, friend.…And now, go.” And he made the sign of the cross over her.

Out of the bushes came a broad-shouldered, black-bearded peasant, in a new pink shirt, that had not yet been washed; it bulged out in stiff folds, protruding from the belt. He was hatless; his disheveled shock of grayish hair stuck out on all sides in unruly locks; his small, bear-like eyes peered sullenly from under frowning brows.

Making way for the women, he followed them with a glance, coughed loudly, and scratched his chest.

“How do, Olesha,” said the old man with a smile. “What is it?”

“Here I am,” said Olesha dully; “want to sit awhile with you.”

“Good, let’s do so.”

They sat for a moment in silence, earnestly gazing at each other, then started talking simultaneously.

“Working?”

“Father, I’m fed up…”

“You’re a big peasant, Olesha.”

“If only I had your kind heart.…”

“You’re a strong man.”

“What good is my strength to me? It’s your soul I want.…”

“Well, when your house burned down, another, like an ass, would have lost courage.”

“And I?”

“You—no! You’ve started all over again.…”

“My heart is bitter,” the man said loudly, and cursed his heart in foul language, while Savel went on with quiet assurance:

“Your heart’s just a common, human, anxious heart; it does not want trouble; it longs for peace.…”