“Would they? A man is a man, doctor or deacon. He may keep another man’s secret, but a woman’s—no. Come, child, Grusha will marry whom God wills, and meantime, let her have rope. All is for the best. Did Grusha know Ivan faithful to her, she would not have this curiosity which makes her wish to wait and see how he will act when he finds her waiting. Meantime, Alioscha is the best singer and dancer in the village. And what could the village have to talk of but for her behavior? For your part, eat, drink, sleep on the top of the stove at night, and work by day. Let each hold up his share of the burden, and all will go well.” Masha listened, sighed, and assented. The next day, as Anna Evauovna was walking in the field near the village street, she heard sounds of music, the clapping of hands and beating of feet in measured time, and loud shouts. She might have walked to the isba whence the sounds came, and inquired the cause, but that was not Anna Evauovna’s way. She slipped behind a hedge, and walking along in its shadow, reached the spot where the merry-making was taking place. [Illustration: MASHA CLASPED HER HANDS “AND DOES THAT LEAVE THE KING OF CLUBS TO ME?” _Drawn by Katharine Gassaway._] On a bit of ground in front of three of the principal isbas, the peasants were assembled. A wooden bench had been brought out, and a plain deal table, beneath which could be seen a wooden pail of vodka (brandy). On the table stood a steaming samovar, a white stone teapot, some huge pieces of rye bread, thick tumblers for tea, and a paper bag of lump sugar. Spoons were not needed, as the sugar was held in the fingers and nibbled between the sips of hot tea served in the glasses. Ivan had returned, and this was his welcome. The samovar had been borrowed for the great occasion; for not every peasant can afford that luxury, and Ivan’s parents were not rich. There were three musicians present, one playing on a concertina, one on a trumpet-like instrument, which gave out bag-pipe sounds, and the other on a melon-shaped guitar, strung with a few strings, on which he twanged merrily. The peasants kept time with feet and voice in barbaric medley. Ivan, the hero of the day, sat at the centre of the table in an unsoldierly, weary attitude, unkempt and unwashed. He had been tramping for days. The trousers of his weather-stained uniform were tucked in his travel-worn boots, and he wore a summer cap on his dark hair. He was replying at his leisure to the numberless questions asked as his fagged brain comprehended them, but when the table was cleared, and the musician with the concertina leaped upon it, his loose linen trousers tucked in his boots, his kaftan into his belt, his hoarse voice cheering the company to the dance, Ivan sprang to his feet, and seizing Grusha as his partner, danced more furiously than any.