"My father is a woodman, and this is his hut where he sleeps when he is wood-cutting. Here we are safe. And now and then, I go to our village for flour, and salt, and butter and tea, and Pamphil sometimes snares a hare or shoots a bird, and so we manage to live. And I am happy, because he has given up the drink, and says he will never take any again."
"That is true, Sonia, but with all this talk we are keeping our guests from their refreshment and from the sleep they so much need."
It was almost sunset of a brilliant winter's afternoon, and the boys and Sharik were still asleep. For though Alf had thought to start for home at noon, Sonia found him and Bert sleeping so soundly that she had not the heart to wake them.
And she had just gone to the door to look out for a moment, when a one-horse sledge, with a man in it, drew up before the hut. Sonia gave a cry of joy, and opened the door wide.
"Come here, Pamphil!" she said, hushing her voice to a whisper, remembering the children.
Pamphil reached the doorway just as the man had got out of the sledge, and they met on the threshold.
"Thou, Stepan!"
"Thou, Pamphil!"
And then the two brothers fell on each other's necks, and kissed in true Russian fashion.
"I went to the prison," said Stepan. "And there I saw Sonia's cousin, who told me of thine escape. And of course I knew that thou must hide for a time, and yet wouldest wish to be with thy wife."