“There, she sticks to it like a leech!⁠ ⁠… Where am I to take him?”

“I’m quite ready to go with you, Vasíli Andréevich,” said Nikíta cheerfully. “But they must feed the horses while I am away,” he added, turning to his master’s wife.

“I’ll look after them, Nikíta dear. I’ll tell Simon,” replied the mistress.

“Well, Vasíli Andréevich, am I to come with you?” said Nikíta, awaiting a decision.

“It seems I must humour my old woman. But if you’re coming you’d better put on a warmer cloak,” said Vasíli Andréevich, smiling again as he winked at Nikíta’s short sheepskin coat, which was torn under the arms and at the back, was greasy and out of shape, frayed to a fringe round the skirt, and had endured many things in its lifetime.

“Hey, dear man, come and hold the horse!” shouted Nikíta to the cook’s husband, who was still in the yard.