When he first rejoined his own again, Egorooshka's almost irresistible inclination was to complain. He did not listen to Father Christopher, but cogitated how he should begin and of what he should complain: then Father Christopher's voice sounded so unpleasant and harsh that it prevented him from concentrating his thoughts, and confused them instead. He had hardly sat five minutes at the table when he got up, went to the sofa, and lay down.
"Well, nijw!" exclaimed Father Christopher. "And what about your tea?"
Still cogiiating what he could say, Egorooshka hid his face against the back of the sofa, and burst out crying.
"Well, now!" repeated Father Christopher, getting up and going to the sofa. "Egorie, what's the matter with you? Why are yuu crying?"
"I . . . I am ill," sobbed Egorooshka.
"Ill?" sc.id Father Christopher anxiously. "But that's very wrong, lad. How do you get ill on the way? Aie, aie,—lad, what do you feel, eh ?"
He lay his hand on Egorooshka's forehead, stroked his cheek, ana said:
"Yea, your head is burning. • . . You must have got a chill, or eaten something. . . . Say a prayer to God."
"Give him some quinine," said Ivan Ivanitch, rather worried.
"Nay, b.!tter give him something hot. . . . Egorie, will you take a little soup? Eh?"
"Don't • . . don't want any," answered Egorooshka.
"Did you get cold-what?"
"Before I was cold, now . . . now I'm hot. I've pain everywhere."
Ivan Ivanitch went up to the sofa, touched Egorooshka lightly on the head, gave a troubled cough, and returned to the table.
"Come now, you'll undress and go to bed," said Father Christopher; "it's sleep you want."
He helped Egorooshka to undress, gave him a pillow, covered him up, and put Ivan lvanitch's coat over him as well, then moved away on tiptoe, and sat at the table. Ego- rooshka closed his eyes, and at once began to feel that he was not in the room at all, but on the highway by the fire. Emilian was waving his hands, and Dimov, red-eyed, was lying belly- down, looking derisively at Egorooshka.
"Beat him! Beat him!" screamed Egorooshka.
"He is delirious," said Father Christopher in an under- tone.
"What a nuisance!" sighed Ivanitch.
"We ought to rub him with oil and vinegar. God grant he be better to-morrow."
So as to shake off his heavy dreamings, Egorooshka opened his eyes, and looked into the fire. Father Christopher and Ivan Ivanitch had finished their tea, and were whispering to- gether. The former was smiling happily, and apparently could not at all forget the good prices they had got for the wooclass="underline" it was not so much the thought of the profit which cheered him, as the idea that when he got back he would collect all his large family, slily wink and laugh, at first mislead them all, and say that the wool was sold below its price, then hand to his son-in-law Michael a fat roll of papers, saying to him: "There, take it: that's the way to do business!" Kubmitchov did not seem satisfied; his face wore the same stern worried man-of-business expression as usual.
"How could one know Tcherepahin would give those prices?" he said in an undertone. "I would not have sold those three hundred pouds at home to Makarov. How vexatious! But who could know prices would have gone up here?"
A :nan in a white shirt carried away the samovar and lit the little image-lamp in the corner. Father Christopher whis- pered something in his ear, he put on a face of mystery like a conspirator—I quite understand—left the room, and te- turned shortly after bringing the required article. Ivan Ivanitch made himself a bed on the floor, yawned several times, lazily said some prayers, then lay down.
"I'm thinking of going to the Cathedral to-morrow morn- ing," said Father Christopher. "There is a sacristan there I know. I must go to his Eminence after Mass, but they say he \s ill."
He yawned, and put out the lamp; the only light that re- mained was the little image-lamp.
"They say he won't receive anyone," continued Father Christopher disrobing. "But I'll go even if he doesn't see me."
He removed his caftan, and Egorooshka saw before him Robinson Crusoe. Robinson mixed something in a saucer, went up to Egorooshka, and whispered to him:
"Lomonossov, you asleep? Get up a bit; I'll rub you with oil and vinegar. It'll do you good, say only a prayer to God."
Egorooshka quickly sat himself up. Father Christopher took off his shirt, and, breathing jerkily as if it was he who was being tickled, set about rubbing Egorooshka's chest.
"In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost . . ." he murmured. "Lie with your back up—that's it—you'll be quite well to-morrow, but don't do it in future. You are like a fire, you are so hot. I'm afraid you had a storm on the way?"
"\Ve had."
"That's enough to make you fall ill! In the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. . . . That's quite enough!"
Having rubbed Egorooshka. Father Christopher put his shirt on, covered him up, made the Sign of the Cross, and left him. Egorooshka then saw him say his prayers. Very likely the old man knew a great number of prayers by heart, foi he stood a long time whispering before the image. When he had finished he made the Sign of the Cross to the window, the door, Egorooshka, Ivan Ivanitch; lay on a little sofa without a pillow, and covered himself over with his caftan. In the corridor the clock struck ten Egorooshka, remember- ing how many hours there would be before morning, in anguish pressed his forehead against the back of the sofa, and no longer made any attempt to rid himself of the hazy trouble- some delirium. And morning came sooner than he expected.
He seemed to have been quite a short while with his fore- head against the sofa's back, yet when he unclosed his eyes there was a streak of sunlight streaming on the floor from both windows of their room. Father Christopher and Ivan Ivanitch were not there. The room was tidy, light and com- fortable, and smelt of Father Christopher, who always exuded a smell of cypress and cornflower (at home he always made the aspergill and ornaments for the image-cases of corn- flowers, so that he was permeated with the scent of them). Egorooshka took a look at his pillow, at the oblique sun-rays, at his boots, which had now been cleaned and had been placed by the side of the sofa—and smiled. It seemed to him odd not to be on the bales of wool, that everything around him should be dry, and that there was no thunder or lightning in the ceiling.
He sprang off the sofa, and started dressing. He felt ex- tremely well; nothing remained of yesterday's illness except a slight weakness in the legs, and a little pain in the neck. Evidently the oil and vinegar had been very effectual. He remembered the steamer, the locomotive, the broad river, which he had indistinctly seen the previous day, and now hurried through his dressing so as to turn down to the wharf and look at them. \When he had washed, and was putting on his red fustian shirt, there was a rattle at the lock of the door, and on the threshold appeared Father Christopher in his wide-brimmerl hat, his staff in his hand, and wearing his brown silk cassock over the linen caftan. Smiling and beam- ing (old men who have just returned from the church always beam), he laid his wafer and some kind of parcel on the table, and with a prayer asked:
"God be with us! Well, how are you?"
"I'm all right now," answered Egorooshka, kissing hi:. hand.
"Thank God! . . . I've just come from l\lass. ... J went and saw the sacristan I knew. He invited me to come and have some tea; I did not go. I don't like being a guest so early. God be with them!"