He looked out of the window, and, like a man awaking from a deep sleep, thought that it was day, that he had slept overmuch, and that some pressing work was awaiting him. “I must get up, it is time,” he repeated, crossing himself again and again, and beginning his morning prayers. Then he glanced round for his clothes. Not finding them, he forgot them quite, and, passing his hands over himself, made a feeble attempt at dressing. His prayer broke off in the saying, and he could only mutter a few incoherent fragments in a soundless voice. His brain was vexed with vague thoughts of things to do, remembrances of things done, and, as it were, the echoes of what had gone on around him when he was lying ill. In evanescent flashes there came to his mind dim recollections, activities that had been indistinct as the furrows on reaped land, and now started up clear and sharp; they took shape in his brain, struggling to come forth, and every instant formed some fresh phantasm which vanished away ere he could grasp it, like rotten tissues that crumbled into dust; so that his mind was as restless as a wandering flame that finds nothing to feed upon, and strays perforce. And thus, whatever he now did, he did out of mere habit, like a horse that has for years walked round, turning the beam of a threshing-machine, and when set at liberty still goes round. He opened the window and looked out; he gazed into the store-room, poked the fire-place after much pondering—and then, just as he was, barefoot and in his shirt, walked out. The door was ajar, the passage flooded with the rays of the moon. Curled up on the threshold, Lapa was sleeping. At the sound of a tread, he woke, growled, and, recognizing his master, followed him out. Matthias halted outside the hut, scratched his ear, and strove hard to remember what that urgent piece of work that awaited him could be. The dog was leaping up joyfully at his master, who patted him as of old, whilst staring bewilderedly about him. It was bright, like day. The moon had now risen above the cabin, casting deep blue shadows on the white walls, and making the mill-pond waters shine like a mirror. Lipka was still as death, but a few birds were noisily fluttering in the thickets. Something came to his mind on a sudden: he hurried to the yard. All the doors were wide open, and the men snoring in the shadow of the barn. He looked into the stables, patted the horses; they whinnied at his touch. Then he peered into the byre: the cows lay in a row, and only their rumps were visible in the light of the moon. He then tried to drag a cart out of the shed; but a glittering plough hard by the sties drew off his attention, and he moved towards it ... and ceased to think of it before he got there. In the middle of the yard he stopped short and looked round on every side, for he thought someone had called him. The well-sweep stood high in front of him, throwing a long shadow. “What is it?” he asked, and paused for a reply.