A little later he went back to the hut.
“What was it?” a pilgrim, who was staying the night at the hut and had been awakened by the noise, asked in a husky voice.
“It’s all right,” answered Ignat. “Nothing of consequence. Our Whitebrow has taken to sleeping with the sheep in the warm. Only he hasn’t the sense to go in at the door, but always tries to wriggle in by the roof. The other night he tore a hole in the roof and went off on the spree, the rascal, and now he has come back and scratched away the roof again.”
“Stupid dog.”
“Yes, there is a spring snapped in his brain. I do detest fools,” sighed Ignat, clambering on to the stove. “Come, man of God, it’s early yet to get up. Let us sleep full steam! . . .”
In the morning he called Whitebrow, smacked him hard about the ears, and then showing him a stick, kept repeating to him:
“Go in at the door! Go in at the door! Go in at the door!”