“That peasant’s beard’s frozen,” Kolya cried in a loud provocative voice as he passed him.
“Lots of people’s beards are frozen,” the peasant replied, calmly and sententiously.
“Don’t provoke him,” observed Smurov.
“It’s all right; he won’t be cross; he’s a nice fellow. Good‐by, Matvey.”
“Good‐by.”
“Is your name Matvey?”
“Yes. Didn’t you know?”
“No, I didn’t. It was a guess.”
“You don’t say so! You are a schoolboy, I suppose?”
“Yes.”