“You’ll be wanting a night’s lodging, eh?”

“Yes, it seems so⁠ ⁠… I’m tired,” said the old man in a hoarse voice.

“Don’t go and ask the Elder, daddy, but come straight to us,” she said kindly. “Ours is the third hut from the end. My mother-in-law lets pilgrims in free.”

“The third hut? That’s Zinóvyef’s?” said the old man, moving his black eyebrows expressively.

“Ah, do you know it?”

“I’ve been here before.”

“Fédya, what are you gaping at there? The lame one has stopped behind!” cried the young woman, pointing to a sheep limping on three legs and lagging behind the herd; and, swinging her switch with her right hand, she pulled the sacking well over her head, catching it from underneath with her left hand in a peculiar way as she ran back to drive the lame black sheep on.