“And don’t you bear a grudge against him, because of your arm?” began Kornéy⁠—with a sob.

“No! Wasn’t he my father? It’s not as if some stranger had done it.⁠ ⁠… Have another cup, after being so cold. Shall I pour it out for you?”

Kornéy did not reply, but burst into tears and sobs.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing⁠—nothing. May Christ reward you!”

And with trembling hands Kornéy took hold of the bunk and the post supporting it, and with his long thin legs climbed on to the oven.

“There, now!” said the old housewife to her son, making a sign in the direction of their visitor.