A month later a stone monument had been raised over the dead woman’s grave. But there was still no stone over the driver’s grave, and there was nothing but the bright green grass over the mound, which was the only sign of a man’s past existence.
“It’ll be a sin in you, Seryoga,” the cook at the station said one day, “if you don’t buy a stone for Fyodor. You were always saying it was winter, but now why don’t you keep your word? I was by at the time. He’s come back once already to ask you for it; if you don’t buy it, he’ll come again and stifle you.”
“Why, did I say I wasn’t going to?” answered Seryoga; “I’ll buy a stone as I said I would; I’ll buy one for a silver rouble and a half. I’ve not forgotten, but it must be fetched, you know. As soon as I’ve a chance to go to the town I’ll buy it.”
“You might put a cross up anyway,” put in an old driver, “or else it’s a downright shame. You’re wearing the boots.”