"And I ... whither shall I go? And how will it be with me?"
"It doesn't matter. May the Lord give thee...."
He sighed without finishing his sentence and was silent.
Then he began to make a rattling sound ... then he stretched out his legs—one of them he jerked sideways.
Jig-Leg gazed at him without once removing his eyes. A few moments passed as long as hours.
Suddenly Hopeful raised his head, but immediately it fell helplessly back on to the ground.
"What, my brother?" said Jig-Leg, leaning over him. But he answered no more, but lay there quiet and motionless.
The sour-visaged Jig-Leg remained sitting by his chum a few minutes longer, then he arose, took off his hat, crossed himself, and slowly went on his way along the ravine. His face was peaked, his eyebrows and moustaches were bristling, and he walked as firmly as if he wanted to beat the earth with his feet and do her a mischief.
The day was already breaking. The sky was grey and cheerless; a savage silence prevailed in the ravine; only the stream, disturbing no one, uttered its monotonous melancholy speech.
But hark, there's a rustle—maybe a clump of earth has rolled down the side of the ravine.... The rook awakes, and, croaking uneasily, flies off elsewhere. Presently a titmouse utters her cry. In the damp cold air of the ravine sounds don't live long—they arise and immediately vanish.