"Good dame," said he, "what shall I do with my pony? He has carried us both so bravely, and now is even more spent and weary than we are ourselves. We have food for him and also for us, so we need not to be chargeable to thee and thy husband. Only let us rest a while, and have some boiling water for our tea, and to make a mash for Sharik, and at noon we go forward again to the big oil zavot."
Here the man by the stove made an uneasy movement and turned his head away.
"The big oil zavot?" repeated he. "With the English manager?"
"Yes. Knowest thou the place and him?" asked All.
"Seest thou not, oh, my husband," said the woman, "that thou art keeping the young gentleman outside—him and his horse? Come in, young sir, and since we have no stable or other shelter than this, let the pony enter with you. He is not vicious, I suppose?"
"Vicious! Our Sharik?" cried both lads at once. "See here, good dame!"
"Lie down, Sharik!" said Alf, laying one hand on his mane and the other gently on his stout little knees, which were trembling now with fatigue and fear. The pony put his face up to Alf's, and rubbed his velvet nose against the boy's cheek; then, obediently, he bent his knees and lay down contentedly in a corner.
"There, kind soul, thou seest what sort of a pet he is! Our fitter and friend, Stepan, says that Sharik is like a human being for sense, and like an angel for temper."
"Your fitter and friend, Stepan, young gentlemen?" exclaimed the man, who had hitherto kept his face away from the light, and had stolen only a glance or two at the young visitors.
"Yes, knowest thou him?" cried Alf. "We thought him at first our enemy, like Anton and Gavril of the Red-scar; but afterwards, he proved himself our friend."