“I will give no one my kopeck!” the peasant decided.
“‘GIVE ME THE KOPECK! I’VE LISTENED TO ENOUGH OF YOUR NONSENSE!’”
He went to the neighbour’s cottage, and saw that the sick man’s lips were already smeared with oil, and in the middle of the room stood the priest, who had collected all kinds of things—cakes, eggs, flaxen threads—and was looking round to see what more he could get. He saw there was nothing more to give, and turned to the peasant.
“Well, now give me the kopeck.”
“Oh, little father, little father!” said the peasant; “do not rob the Orthodox people!”
“You rascal!” cried the priest. “How dare you say such things to your spiritual father!”
“Little father, little father! From my very soul I say it;—do not rob the Orthodox people. Think what you are doing, little father!”
The priest caught up the baby’s cradle, rushed at the peasant and cried—
“Give me the kopeck! I’ve listened to enough of your nonsense!”