"Certainly, why not? I understand thoroughly. That is to say, I, the Sotsky of Smolkena, am bound to conduct this man to the district magistrate—and that's all." The Sotsky pronounced his speech staccato, and with comical dignity for the benefit of the public.
"And the papers?"
"The papers?—they are stored away safely in my breast-pocket."
"Well, that's all right," said the Starosta approvingly, at the same time scratching his sides energetically.
"God be with you, then," he added.
"Well, my father, shall we stroll on, then?" said the Sotsky to the prisoner.
"You might give us a conveyance," replied the prisoner to the proposition of the Sotsky.
The Starosta smiled.
"A con-vey-ance, eh? Go along! Our brother the wayfarer here is used to lounging about the fields and villages—and we've no horses to spare. You must go on your own legs, that's all."
"It doesn't matter, let us go, my father!" said the Sotsky cheerfully. "Surely you don't think it is too far for us? Twenty versts at most, thank God! Come, let us go, 'twill be nothing. We shall do it capitally, you and I. And when we get there you shall have a rest."