Zhílin lived in this way for a month. During the day he sauntered about the aoul or busied himself with some handicraft, but at night, when all was silent in the aoul , he dug at the floor of the barn. It was no easy task digging, because of the stones; but he worked away at them with his file, and at last had made a hole under the wall large enough to get through.
“If only I could get to know the lay of the land,” thought he, “and which way to go! But none of the Tartars will tell me.”
So he chose a day when the master was away from home, and set off after dinner to climb the hill beyond the village, and to look around. But before leaving home the master always gave orders to his son to watch Zhílin, and not to lose sight of him. So the lad ran after Zhílin, shouting: “Don’t go! Father does not allow it. I’ll call the neighbours if you won’t come back.”