“What are you about?” they cried. “The devil take you and the cloak, too! Woe is us, that we ever came here with you!”
But without attending to them, he cried:
“Father Archimandrite! your reverence!”
“Hey! what!” replied the Archimandrite, in a voice half-suffocated with sleep.
“I have had a very bad dream,” said Tim, “I dreamt that thieves broke into the treasure-room, and carried away all the money, and also your cloak of sable. He who climbed up to steal the treasure, took the cloak out of the box, intending it for himself. He gave his comrades all the money, and only wanted to keep the cloak; but they refused to give it him. Now, who do you say should have the cloak?”
The Archimandrite imagining that it was his chamberlain who was speaking to him, cried:
“Oh, how tiresome you are! People are sure to dream at night. Pray don’t trouble my rest.”
Tim was silent for a time, but no sooner had the Archimandrite fallen asleep again, than he again awoke him, crying:
“Whom is the cloak to be given to?”
“Oh, you tiresome fellow!” cried the Archimandrite. “Well, if you must know, I would have it given to him who broke in. But, pray, let me sleep.”