"Well, what next?" Ilya prompted him, eager to hear the end.
"Oh! I flew right away," Jakov ended his tale thoughtfully.
"But where?"
"Where? Oh—just—just right away."
"Oh you!" said Ilya disappointed and contemptuous. "You never remember anything."
Grandfather Jeremy came out from the bar and called, shading his eyes with his hand:
"Ilyusha! Where are you? Come to bed it's getting late."
Ilya followed the old man obediently and went to his bed, made of a sack full of hay. He slept soundly on his sack, and lived happily with the old rag-picker, but all too fast this pleasant easy life slipped away.