And the old woman grew quite sentimental.
“Of course, it is a childish trick. God be with him,” said she, pointing to the boy.
The woman was just about to lift the bag up on her shoulder, when the boy ran up, and said:—
“Let me carry it, babushka; it is on my way.”
The old woman nodded her head, and put the bag on the boy's back.
And side by side they passed along the street.
And the old woman even forgot to ask Avdyeitch to pay for the apple. Avdyeitch stood motionless, and kept gazing after them; and he heard them talking all the time as they walked away. After Avdyeitch saw them disappear, he returned to his room; he found his eye-glasses on the stairs,—they were not broken; he picked up his awl, and sat down to work again.
After working a little while, it grew darker, so that he could not see to sew; he saw the lamplighter passing by to light the street-lamps.
“It must be time to make a light,” he said to himself; so he got his little lamp ready, hung it up, and he took himself again to his work. He had one boot already finished; he turned it around, looked at it: “Well done.” He put away his tools, swept off the cuttings, cleared off the bristles and ends, took the lamp, set it on the table, and took down the Gospels from the shelf. He intended to open the book at the very place where he had yesterday put a piece of leather as a mark, but it happened to open at another place; and the moment Avdyeitch opened the Testament, he recollected his last night's dream. And as soon as he remembered it, it seemed as if he heard someone stepping about behind him. Avdyeitch looked around, and saw—there, in the dark corner, it seemed as if people were standing; he was at a loss to know who they were. And a voice whispered in his ear:—
“Martuin—ah, Martuin! did you not recognize me?”