Drawn by Katharine Gassaway.
On a bit of ground in front of three of the principal isbas, the peasants were assembled. A wooden bench had been brought out, and a plain deal table, beneath which could be seen a wooden pail of vodka (brandy). On the table stood a steaming samovar, a white stone teapot, some huge pieces of rye bread, thick tumblers for tea, and a paper bag of lump sugar. Spoons were not needed, as the sugar was held in the fingers and nibbled between the sips of hot tea served in the glasses.
Ivan had returned, and this was his welcome.
The samovar had been borrowed for the great occasion; for not every peasant can afford that luxury, and Ivan’s parents were not rich.
There were three musicians present, one playing on a concertina, one on a trumpet-like instrument, which gave out bag-pipe sounds, and the other on a melon-shaped guitar, strung with a few strings, on which he twanged merrily.
The peasants kept time with feet and voice in barbaric medley. Ivan, the hero of the day, sat at the centre of the table in an unsoldierly, weary attitude, unkempt and unwashed. He had been tramping for days. The trousers of his weather-stained uniform were tucked in his travel-worn boots, and he wore a summer cap on his dark hair.
He was replying at his leisure to the numberless questions asked as his fagged brain comprehended them, but when the table was cleared, and the musician with the concertina leaped upon it, his loose linen trousers tucked in his boots, his kaftan into his belt, his hoarse voice cheering the company to the dance, Ivan sprang to his feet, and seizing Grusha as his partner, danced more furiously than any.
Anna Evauovna, peering through the leaves, could see it all. Alioscha, as eager in his welcome to the wanderer as Grusha herself, was now dancing merrily also, and Masha was his happy partner. Her kerchief had fallen back, leaving her good-natured, round face unframed, and exposing the line of white forehead which had been protected from the sun. She was a pretty picture.