“Ah-a-a!” cried the younger Kozeltsóf, “this is wonderful!” and he began kissing his brother.

They kissed three times, but hesitated before the third kiss, as if the thought, “Why has it to be just three times?” had struck both of them.

“Well, I am glad!” said the elder, looking into his brother’s face: “come out into the porch and let’s have a talk.”

“Come, come along. I don’t want any soup: you eat it, Féderson,” he said to his comrade.

“But you wanted to eat.”

“I don’t want any.”

Out in the porch the younger one kept asking his brother, “Well, and how are you? Tell me how things are,” and saying how glad he was to see him, but did not tell him anything about himself.