Yegorushka took off his hat and did not say a word, but the stew lost all savour for him, and he did not hear Panteley and Vassya intervening on his behalf. A feeling of anger with the insulting fellow was rankling oppressively in his breast, and he made up his mind that he would do him some injury, whatever it cost him.

After dinner everyone sauntered to the wagons and lay down in the shade.

“Are we going to start soon, grandfather?” Yegorushka asked Panteley.

“In God’s good time we shall set off. There’s no starting yet; it is too hot.⁠ ⁠… O Lord, Thy will be done. Holy Mother⁠ ⁠… Lie down, little lad.”

Soon there was a sound of snoring from under the wagons. Yegorushka meant to go back to the village, but on consideration, yawned and lay down by the old man.

The wagons remained by the river the whole day, and set off again when the sun was setting.

Yegorushka was lying on the bales again; the wagon creaked softly and swayed from side to side. Panteley walked below, stamping his feet, slapping himself on his thighs and muttering. The air was full of the churring music of the steppes, as it had been the day before.

Yegorushka lay on his back, and, putting his hands under his head, gazed upwards at the sky. He watched the glow of sunset kindle, then fade away; guardian angels covering the horizon with their gold wings disposed themselves to slumber. The day had passed peacefully; the quiet peaceful night had come, and they could stay tranquilly at home in heaven.⁠ ⁠… Yegorushka saw the sky by degrees grow dark and the mist fall over the earth⁠—saw the stars light up, one after the other.⁠ ⁠…