‘Really you ought to take him. I beg you in God’s name!’ his wife repeated, wrapping her shawl more closely round her head. ‘There, she sticks to it like a leech!... Where am I to take him?’ ‘I’m quite ready to go with you, Vasili Andreevich,’ said Nikita cheerfully. ‘But they must feed the horses while I am away,’ he added, turning to his master’s wife. ‘I’ll look after them, Nikita dear. I’ll tell Simon,’ replied the mistress. ‘Well, Vasili Andreevich, am I to come with you?’ said Nikita, awaiting a decision. ‘It seems I must humour my old woman. But if you’re coming you’d better put on a warmer cloak,’ said Vasili Andreevich, smiling again as he winked at Nikita’s short sheepskin coat, which was torn under the arms and at the back, was greasy and out of shape, frayed to a fringe round the skirt, and had endured many things in its lifetime. ‘Hey, dear man, come and hold the horse!’ shouted Nikita to the cook’s husband, who was still in the yard. ‘No, I will myself, I will myself!’ shrieked the little boy, pulling his hands, red with cold, out of his pockets, and seizing the cold leather reins. ‘Only don’t be too long dressing yourself up. Look alive!’ shouted Vasili Andreevich, grinning at Nikita. ‘Only a moment, Father, Vasili Andreevich!’ replied Nikita, and running quickly with his inturned toes in his felt boots with their soles patched with felt, he hurried across the yard and into the workmen’s hut. ‘Arinushka! Get my coat down from the stove. I’m going with the master,’ he said, as he ran into the hut and took down his girdle from the nail on which it hung. The workmen’s cook, who had had a sleep after dinner and was now getting the samovar ready for her husband, turned cheerfully to Nikita, and infected by his hurry began to move as quickly as he did, got down his miserable worn-out cloth coat from the stove where it was drying, and began hurriedly shaking it out and smoothing it down. ‘There now, you’ll have a chance of a holiday with your good man,’ said Nikita, who from kindhearted politeness always said something to anyone he was alone with. Then, drawing his worn narrow girdle round him, he drew in his breath, pulling in his lean stomach still more, and girdled himself as tightly as he could over his sheepskin. ‘There now,’ he said addressing himself no longer to the cook but the girdle, as he tucked the ends in at the waist, ‘now you won’t come undone!’ And working his shoulders up and down to free his arms, he put the coat over his sheepskin, arched his back more strongly to ease his arms, poked himself under the armpits, and took down his leather-covered mittens from the shelf. ‘Now we’re all right!’ ‘You ought to wrap your feet up, Nikita. Your boots are very bad.’ Nikita stopped as if he had suddenly realized this. ‘Yes, I ought to.... But they’ll do like this. It isn’t far!’ and he ran out into the yard. ‘Won’t you be cold, Nikita?’ said the mistress as he came up to the sledge.