"Yes, it is I, my father."
"It is you, my good child; ah, the Lord be praised! I was dying without you, do you see, and you have come to bring me back to life. But how did you come? On foot?"
"On foot, father. Did I not know the road? And why should I be afraid to walk at night?"
"Did you come alone?"
"With my stick."
"And did they give you permission to come?"
"Bah! I did not ask it. They put me to bed, but I was so troubled I could not close my eyes. I cannot tell you how anxious I was; I felt obliged to come back to you. And when the morning comes and they do not find me, they will know well enough where to look for me."
Iermola, as he embraced him, felt his strength and presence of mind return, and he quickly revived.
"Huluk," he cried in a glad, strong voice, "the poor child is doubtless cold; he is hungry too. Surely they could not have given him anything to eat. Light the fire. Is there anything to eat? I also feel as if my stomach was empty."
"How astonishing!" murmured the boy; "yesterday neither of them ate one mouthful."