'What is it?'
'My cough troubles me at night.'
'The gentleman's asleep, it seems,' observed Yermolaï after a short silence. 'Don't go to a doctor, Arina; it will be worse if you do.'
'Well, I am not going.'
'But come and pay me a visit.'
Arina hung down her head dejectedly.
'I will drive my wife out for the occasion,' continued Yermolaï 'Upon my word, I will.'
'You had better wake the gentleman, Yermolaï Petrovitch; you see, the potatoes are done.'
'Oh, let him snore,' observed my faithful servant indifferently; 'he's tired with walking, so he sleeps sound.'
I turned over in the hay. Yermolaï got up and came to me. 'The potatoes are ready; will you come and eat them?'