"You speak very irreverently of God, Osip," observed Petr.
"That's all right! My words are less to God than a snowflake or a drop of rain are to me. Don't you worry; you and I don't touch God."
He suddenly began to play restlessly, throwing off sharp little sayings like sparks from a flint, cutting off with them, as with scissors, whatever was displeasing to him. Several times in the course of the day he asked me:
"Are we going to read, Maximich? That's right! A good idea!"
When the hour for rest arrived we had supper with him in his workshop, and after supper appeared Petr with his assistant Ardalon, and Shishlin with the lad Phoma. In the shed where the gang slept there was a lamp burning, and I began to read. They listened without speaking, but they moved about, and very soon Ardalon said crossly:
"I've had enough of this!"
And he went out. The first to fall asleep was Grigori, with his mouth open surprisingly; then the carpenters fell asleep; but Petr, Osip, and Phoma drew nearer to me and listened attentively. When I finished reading Osip put out the lamp at once. By the stars it was nearly midnight.
Petr asked in the darkness:
"What was that written for? Against whom?"
"Now for sleep!" said Osip, taking off his boots.