So Makar rose, muttering under his breath that they couldn’t even let a man alone after he was dead.
The priest walked before and Makar followed. They went always straight ahead, and the larches stood meekly aside and allowed them to pass; they were going eastward.
Makar noted with surprise that Father Ivan left no tracks in the snow behind him; he looked under his own feet and saw no tracks either; the snow lay as fresh and smooth as a table cloth.
How easy it would be now, he reflected, to rob other men’s traps, as no one could find him out! But the priest must have read his secret thought, for he turned and said: “Kabis! (stop that!). You don’t know what you will get for thoughts like that.”
“Well, I declare!” exclaimed the disgusted Makar. “Can’t I even think what I please? What makes you so strict these days? Hold your tongue!”
The priest shook his head and walked on.
“Have we far to go?” asked Makar.
“Yes, a long way,” answered the priest sadly.
“And what shall we have to eat?” Makar inquired with anxiety.
“You have forgotten that you are dead,” the priest answered turning toward him. “You won’t have to eat or drink now.”