"Oh certainly!" agreed Hopeful, and he sighed heavily for some reason or other. The work in the hands of Jig-Leg progressed rapidly, he had already woven the bottom of the basket, and was skilfully making the sides. He cut the osiers with his knife, bit them through with his teeth, bent and twined them, and snorted from time to time whenever he gave a tug at his bristling moustaches. Hopeful looked sometimes at him, sometimes at the horse, which seemed to have petrified into its dejected pose, and sometimes at the sky, already almost nocturnal, but without stars. "The muzhiks grab all the horses," he suddenly remarked in a strange voice--"and there are none left except here and there perhaps--so there are no more horses!" And Hopeful waved his arms about. His face was dull, and his eyes blinked as frequently as if he was looking at something bright blazing up before them. "What's that to do with you?" asked Jig-Leg severely. "I was calling to mind a story...." said Hopeful guiltily. "What story?" "Yes!... Just as it might be here ... the same thing happened to my knowledge once ... they took away a horse ... from a neighbour of mine ... Michael his name was ... such a big muzhik he was ... and pock-marked...." "Well?" "Well, they took her away.... She was browsing on the winter pastures--and all at once she was gone. When Michael understood that he was nagless, down he plumped on the ground, and how he howled! Ah, my little friend, how he did bellow then, to be sure ... it was just as if he had broken his leg...." "Well?" "Well ... he was a long time like that." "And how do you come in?" At this sharp question from his comrade, Hopeful slunk away from him, and timidly answered: "Oh ... I only remembered it, that's all. For without his horse the muzhik is in a hole." "I tell you what it is," began Jig-Leg severely, looking Hopeful straight in the face, "chuck it, d'ye hear? There's no sense in what you say, do you understand? Michael, your neighbour, indeed! What's it got to do with you?" "Anyhow, it's a pity," objected Hopeful, shrugging his shoulders. "A pity! Good heavens! and is there anyone who ever takes pity on us?" "What do you mean?" "Shut up! it will soon be time to go." "Soon?" "Yes." Hopeful moved a little towards the fire, poked it with his stick, and looking askance at Jig-Leg, who was once more immersed in his work, said softly and beseechingly: "Hadn't we better let her[4] go?" "It's your low nature that makes you talk like that!" exclaimed Jig-Leg angrily. [4] The horse. "Nay, but for God's sake listen!" persisted Hopeful softly, and with a tone of conviction, "Just think, there's danger in it! Here we shall have to drag her along for four versts.... And suppose the gipsies won't take her!--what then?" "That's my affair." "As you like! Only it would be better to let her go. Let her go and slope. Look what a knacker she is!" Jig-Leg was silent, but his fingers moved more quickly than ever.