Ignat began to sing some song in a horrible falsetto, but so loud and with such stops, during which he whistled, that it was weird to listen to, and made one melancholy.
"Hey-y-y! Why are you splitting your throat, Ignat? Hold on a bit!" said the voice of the mentor.
"What?"
"Hold o-o-o-o-n!"
Ignat reined up. Again silence only broken by the wailing and whistling of the wind, while the snow began to pile up, rustling on the sledge. The mentor drove up to us.
"Well, what is it?"
"Say![19] where are you going?"
"Who knows?"
"Are your feet frozen, that you stamp so?"
"They're frozen off."