“I was in the village,” replied her son reluctantly, reaching for his musket, which he drew from its cover and examined carefully. His mother swayed her head. Lukáshka poured a little gunpowder onto the pan, took out a little bag from which he drew some empty cartridge cases which he began filling, carefully plugging each one with a ball wrapped in a rag. Then, having tested the loaded cartridges with his teeth and examined them, he put down the bag. “I say, Mother, I told you the bags wanted mending; have they been done?” he asked. “Oh yes, our dumb girl was mending something last night. Why, is it time for you to be going back to the cordon? I haven’t seen anything of you!” “Yes, as soon as I have got ready I shall have to go,” answered Lukáshka, tying up the gunpowder. “And where is our dumb one? Outside?” “Chopping wood, I expect. She kept fretting for you. ‘I shall not see him at all!’ she said. She puts her hand to her face like this, and clicks her tongue and presses her hands to her heart as much as to say—‘sorry.’ Shall I call her in? She understood all about the _abrek_.” “Call her,” said Lukáshka. “And I had some tallow there; bring it: I must grease my sword.” The old woman went out, and a few minutes later Lukáshka’s dumb sister came up the creaking steps and entered the hut. She was six years older than her brother and would have been extremely like him had it not been for the dull and coarsely changeable expression (common to all deaf and dumb people) of her face. She wore a coarse smock all patched; her feet were bare and muddy, and on her head she had an old blue kerchief. Her neck, arms, and face were sinewy like a peasant’s. Her clothing and her whole appearance indicated that she always did the hard work of a man. She brought in a heap of logs which she threw down by the oven. Then she went up to her brother, and with a joyful smile which made her whole face pucker up, touched him on the shoulder and began making rapid signs to him with her hands, her face, and whole body. “That’s right, that’s right, Stëpka is a trump!” answered the brother, nodding. “She’s fetched everything and mended everything, she’s a trump! Here, take this for it!” He brought out two pieces of gingerbread from his pocket and gave them to her.