His precaution was in vain. Suddenly the yelp of a dog broke upon the silence; then a relay of yelps ran from the village’s one end to the other. One lean dog, then another and another and another, came leaping out at him, looking fiercely ravenous in the ghostly moonlight. Drexel seized a stake from the wicker-work fence of a barnyard, and kept the white-fanged brutes at bay. But these dogs he feared less than another danger. Momently he expected the village to rush out, and thus ruin his plans of escape. But not a cottager stirred. They had grown used to these canine serenades; the barking no more disturbed their rustic sleep than a street-car’s rattle does the city dweller’s. Keeping the snarling pack without the circle of the swinging stake, Drexel knocked at the door--and had to knock again and again before he heard a stir. Finally there came a hesitant, “Who’s there?” “A friend! Let me in!” he called in a low tone. He heard voices consulting. One said that perhaps it was the police or soldiers, and if the door was not opened they would burst it in or fire the house. Whereupon the door swung open. “Come in,” said the voice of the tactician. Drexel followed through a dark room, which a sleepy rustling told him was inhabitated by hens, into the peasants’ one living room--a room with an earthen floor, walls of mud-plastered logs and a ceiling that brushed the head. A well-built, shaggy old man, and a younger man and woman, evidently his son and daughter-in-law, received Drexel. They were dressed practically as by day, for the Russian peasant is too poor to possess many bedclothes and he perforce sleeps in his day garments for the sake of warmth. “Will my lord sit down?” quaveringly asked the old man, pulling forward a rough-hewn bench. All were agitated by the strangeness of a richly-dressed city man calling at their house at dead of night; and they wavered between the peasant’s natural courtesy and fear of some disaster this visit might portend. Drexel’s exhausted body collapsed upon the rude seat, and the three formed a staring semi-circle. His eyes fixed upon the father as being nearest his size. “I want you,” said he, “to sell me a suit of your clothes.” “Sell you this suit of clothes!” cried the old man. “No, not that suit,” said Drexel wearily, eyeing with disfavour the worn and greasy sheepskin coat. “I want your other suit.” “But this is the only suit I have.” Drexel shuddered. “Then I guess I’ll have to buy it. How much did it cost?” “Ten rubles, my lord--when it was new.” Drexel drew out his purse and laid down a note. “There’s a hundred rubles.” The three stared in an even greater amazement. The old man shook his head. “If I had so large a note,” he said at length, “people would think I stole it.” Drexel took out several smaller bills that totalled the same, and restored the first note to his purse.