‘Well, then, have some tea,’ said the kindly old hostess. ‘You must be chilled through, good soul. Why are you women dawdling so with the samovar?’ ‘It is ready,’ said one of the young women, and after flicking with her apron the top of the samovar which was now boiling over, she carried it with an effort to the table, raised it, and set it down with a thud. Meanwhile Vasili Andreevich was telling how he had lost his way, how they had come back twice to this same village, and how they had gone astray and had met some drunken peasants. Their hosts were surprised, explained where and why they had missed their way, said who the tipsy people they had met were, and told them how they ought to go. ‘A little child could find the way to Molchanovka from here. All you have to do is to take the right turning from the high road. There’s a bush you can see just there. But you didn’t even get that far!’ said the neighbour. ‘You’d better stay the night. The women will make up beds for you,’ said the old woman persuasively. ‘You could go on in the morning and it would be pleasanter,’ said the old man, confirming what his wife had said. ‘I can’t, friend. Business!’ said Vasili Andreevich. ‘Lose an hour and you can’t catch it up in a year,’ he added, remembering the grove and the dealers who might snatch that deal from him. ‘We shall get there, shan’t we?’ he said, turning to Nikita. Nikita did not answer for some time, apparently still intent on thawing out his beard and moustache. ‘If only we don’t go astray again,’ he replied gloomily. He was gloomy because he passionately longed for some vodka, and the only thing that could assuage that longing was tea and he had not yet been offered any. ‘But we have only to reach the turning and then we shan’t go wrong. The road will be through the forest the whole way,’ said Vasili Andreevich. ‘It’s just as you please, Vasili Andreevich. If we’re to go, let us go,’ said Nikita, taking the glass of tea he was offered. ‘We’ll drink our tea and be off.’ Nikita said nothing but only shook his head, and carefully pouring some tea into his saucer began warming his hands, the fingers of which were always swollen with hard work, over the steam. Then, biting off a tiny bit of sugar, he bowed to his hosts, said, ‘Your health!’ and drew in the steaming liquid. ‘If somebody would see us as far as the turning,’ said Vasili Andreevich. ‘Well, we can do that,’ said the eldest son. ‘Petrushka will harness and go that far with you.’ ‘Well, then, put in the horse, lad, and I shall be thankful to you for it.’ ‘Oh, what for, dear man?’ said the kindly old woman. ‘We are heartily glad to do it.’ ‘Petrushka, go and put in the mare,’ said the eldest brother. ‘All right,’ replied Petrushka with a smile, and promptly snatching his cap down from a nail he ran away to harness.