He did as Agatha suggested. On reaching the Zinóvyefs’ house he asked leave to spend the night there. They let him in.
On entering the hut he, as usual, crossed himself before the icon, and greeted his hosts.
“You’re frozen, daddy! Get up on to the oven!” said the wrinkled cheerful old housewife, clearing away the things on the table.
Agatha’s husband, a young-looking peasant, sat on a bench by the table, trimming the lamp.
“How wet you are, daddy!” said he. “Well, it can’t be helped. Make haste and dry yourself!”
Kornéy took off his coat, bared his feet, hung his leg-bands up to dry near the oven, and himself climbed on to the top of it.
Agatha entered the hut, carrying a jug. She had already driven the herd home, and had attended to the cattle.
“Has an old pilgrim been here?” asked she. “I met one, and told him to call.”
“There he is,” said her husband, pointing to the oven, on which sat Kornéy, rubbing his lean and hairy legs.
When tea was ready, they asked Kornéy to join them. He climbed down, and seated himself at the end of a bench. They handed him a cup of tea and a piece of sugar.