"With my little means I couldn't do any thing for him. To-morrow I am going to send Ignat in, and his wife will want to go."
"Send her along, first-rate," said the stárosta, and he got up and mounted the stove. "What's money? Money's dust."
"Who would begrudge money if he had it?" asked one of the merchant's people, lifting his head.
"Ekh! money, money! it causes many a sin," replied Dutlof. "Nothing in the world causes so much sin as money, and it says so in the Scriptures."
"It says every thing," said the porter. "A man told me the other day: there was a merchant, he had made a lot of money, and he did not want any of it to remain behind him. He loved his money so that he took it with him into his tomb. He came to die, and ordered every penny that he had to be put into a pillow in the grave with him. And so they did. By and by his sons began to seek for his money. None anywhere. One of them suspected that it was in the cushion. They go to the Tsar, and get permission to dig it up. And what do you think? They discovered that there was nothing there, but the grave was full of mould and worms; and then they dig again, and there they find the money."
"Truly, much sin!" said Dutlof, and, standing up, he began to say his prayers.
After he had prayed, he looked at his nephew. He was asleep. Dutlof went to him, took off his belt, and then lay down. Another muzhík went out to sleep with the horses.
[12] A sort of beer made of rye-bread soaked in water and fermented.
[13] dvornik.