Theodore, the friend who drove Father Vasily back, was a sociable, merry giant with red hair and a red beard. His son had just been taken as a recruit, and to celebrate the event, Theodore had had a drink, and was therefore in a particularly happy frame of mind.
“Mitri’s mare was tired out,” he said; “why not help a friend? Why not help a friend? We ought to be kind to one another, oughtn’t we? Now then, my beauty!” he shouted to the bay horse with its tightly plaited tail, and touched it with the whip.
“Gently, gently,” said Father Vasily, shaken as he was by the jolting.
“Well, we can go slower. Is she dead?”
“Yes, she is at rest,” said the priest.
The red-haired man wanted to express his sympathy, but he also wanted to have a joke.
“God’s taken one wife. He’ll send another,” he said, wishing to have a laugh.