'They've the cattle-plague again at Zheltonhiny,' the miller's wife was saying; 'father Ivan's two cows are dead--Lord have mercy on them!' 'And how are your pigs doing?' asked Yermolaï, after a brief pause. 'They're alive.' 'You ought to make me a present of a sucking pig.' The miller's wife was silent for a while, then she sighed. 'Who is it you're with?' she asked. 'A gentleman from Kostomarovo.' Yermolaï threw a few pine twigs on the fire; they all caught fire at once, and a thick white smoke came puffing into his face. 'Why didn't your husband let us into the cottage?' 'He's afraid.' 'Afraid! the fat old tub! Arina Timofyevna, my darling, bring me a little glass of spirits.' The miller's wife rose and vanished into the darkness. Yermolaï began to sing in an undertone-- 'When I went to see my sweetheart, I wore out all my shoes.' Arina returned with a small flask and a glass. Yermolaï got up, crossed himself, and drank it off at a draught. 'Good!' was his comment. The miller's wife sat down again on the tub. 'Well, Arina Timofyevna, are you still ill?' 'Yes.' 'What is it?' 'My cough troubles me at night.' 'The gentleman's asleep, it seems,' observed Yermolaï after a short silence. 'Don't go to a doctor, Arina; it will be worse if you do.' 'Well, I am not going.' 'But come and pay me a visit.' Arina hung down her head dejectedly. 'I will drive my wife out for the occasion,' continued Yermolaï 'Upon my word, I will.' 'You had better wake the gentleman, Yermolaï Petrovitch; you see, the potatoes are done.' 'Oh, let him snore,' observed my faithful servant indifferently; 'he's tired with walking, so he sleeps sound.' I turned over in the hay. Yermolaï got up and came to me. 'The potatoes are ready; will you come and eat them?' I came out of the outhouse; the miller's wife got up from the tub and was going away. I addressed her. 'Have you kept this mill long?' 'It's two years since I came on Trinity day.' 'And where does your husband come from?' Arina had not caught my question. 'Where's your husband from?' repeated Yermolaï, raising his voice. 'From Byelev. He's a Byelev townsman.' 'And are you too from Byelev?' 'No, I'm a serf; I was a serf.' 'Whose?' 'Zvyerkoff was my master. Now I am free.' 'What Zvyerkoff?' 'Alexandr Selitch.' 'Weren't you his wife's lady's maid?' 'How did you know? Yes.' I looked at Arina with redoubled curiosity and sympathy. 'I know your master,' I continued. 'Do you?' she replied in a low voice, and her head drooped.