MÍTRITCH. Why, like this! When he finds such a one as you, who won't sleep, he comes with a sack and pops the girl into it, then in he gets himself, head and all, lifts her dress, and gives her a fine whipping!
NAN. What with?
MÍTRITCH. He takes a birch-broom with him.
NAN. But he can't see there—inside the sack!
MÍTRITCH. He'll see, no fear!
NAN. But I'll bite him.
MÍTRITCH. No, friend, him you can't bite!
NAN. Daddy, there's some one coming! Who is it? Oh gracious goodness! Who can it be?
MÍTRITCH. Well, if some one's coming, let them come! What's the matter with you? I suppose it's your mother!
Enter Anísya.