From Eróshka’s hut Lukáshka went home. As he returned, the dewy mists were rising from the ground and enveloped the village. In various places the cattle, though out of sight, could be heard beginning to stir. The cocks called to one another with increasing frequency and insistence. The air was becoming more transparent, and the villagers were getting up. Not till he was close to it could Lukáshka discern the fence of his yard, all wet with dew, the porch of the hut, and the open shed. From the misty yard he heard the sound of an axe chopping wood. Lukáshka entered the hut. His mother was up, and stood at the oven throwing wood into it. His little sister was still lying in bed asleep.
“Well, Lukáshka, had enough holiday-making?” asked his mother softly. “Where did you spend the night?”
“I was in the village,” replied her son reluctantly, reaching for his musket, which he drew from its cover and examined carefully.
His mother swayed her head.
Lukáshka poured a little gunpowder onto the pan, took out a little bag from which he drew some empty cartridge cases which he began filling, carefully plugging each one with a ball wrapped in a rag. Then, having tested the loaded cartridges with his teeth and examined them, he put down the bag.
“I say, Mother, I told you the bags wanted mending; have they been done?” he asked.
“Oh yes, our dumb girl was mending something last night. Why, is it time for you to be going back to the cordon? I haven’t seen anything of you!”
“Yes, as soon as I have got ready I shall have to go,” answered Lukáshka, tying up the gunpowder. “And where is our dumb one? Outside?”
“Chopping wood, I expect. She kept fretting for you. ‘I shall not see him at all!’ she said. She puts her hand to her face like this, and clicks her tongue and presses her hands to her heart as much as to say—‘sorry.’ Shall I call her in? She understood all about the abrek.”
“Call her,” said Lukáshka. “And I had some tallow there; bring it: I must grease my sword.”