The door creaked and the porter thrust his head into the coach house.
“Aren’t you asleep yet, Stepan?” he asked. “I can’t get any sleep to-night, opening and shutting the gate every minute. Why, Aliosha, what are you crying about?”
“I’m frightened,” answered the coachman’s grandson.
Again that wailing voice rang out. The porter said:
“They are crying. His mother can’t believe her eyes. She is carrying on terribly.”
“Is the father there, too?”
“Yes, he’s there, but he’s quiet. He’s sitting in a corner, and not saying a word. The children have been sent to their relatives. Well, Stepan, shall we have another game?”
“Come on!” the coachman assented. “Go and lie down, Aliosha, and go to sleep. Why you’re old enough to think of getting married, you young rascal, and there you are bawling! Run along, child, run along!”
The porter’s presence calmed Aliosha; he went timidly to his sleigh and lay down. As he fell asleep he heard a whispering:
“I take the trick,” his grandfather murmured.