The doctor entered the hut, and I said goodbye and went out into the street.
We got into the sledge, and drove to a small neighbouring village to see the doctor's last patient, who had sent for him the day before. We went into the hut together.
The room was small, but clean; in the middle of it a cradle hung from the ceiling, and a woman stood rocking it energetically. At the table sat a girl of about eight, who gazed at us with surprised and frightened eyes.
"Where is he?" the doctor asked.
"On the oven," replied the woman, not ceasing to rock the cradle.
The doctor climbed up, and, leaning over the patient, did something to him.
I drew nearer, and asked about the sick man's condition.
The doctor gave me no answer. I climbed up, too, and gazing through the darkness gradually began to discern the hairy head of the man on the oven-top. Heavy, stifling air hung about the sick man, who lay on his back. The doctor was holding his left hand to feel the pulse.
"Is he very bad?" I asked.
Without answering me, the doctor turned to the woman.