'So I'm supposed to get in there with you? A fine wagon!' he went on, climbing in. 'Just hire some musicians and you could dance in it!'
'Yes, a commensurate vehicle!' said one of the Cossacks, getting up on the box along with the coachman, who had a rag wrapped around his head instead of his hat, which he had already left in the tavern. The other five, together with the philosopher, climbed deep inside and settled on sacks filled with various purchases made in town.
'I'd be curious to know,' said the philosopher, 'if this wagon were to be loaded, for example, with certain goods-salt, say, or iron wedges-how many horses would it need?'
'Yes,' the Cossack on the box said after some silence, 'it would need a sufficient number of horses.'
After which satisfactory answer, the Cossack considered he had the right to keep silent the rest of the way.
The philosopher had a great desire to find out in more detail who this chief was, what sort of character he had, what this rumor was about his daughter, who had come home in such an extraordinary fashion and was now dying, and whose story was now connected with his own, how it was with them and what went on in the house? He addressed them with questions; but the Cossacks must also have been philosophers, because they said nothing in reply, lay on the sacks and smoked their pipes. Only one of them addressed the coachman sitting on the box with a brief order: 'Keep an eye out, Overko, you old gawk. When you get near the tavern, the one on the Chukhrailovsky road, don't forget to stop, and wake me and the other lads up if we happen to fall asleep.' After that he fell rather loudly asleep. However, these admonitions were quite superfluous, because as soon as the gigantic wagon approached the tavern on the Chukhrailovsky road, everybody shouted with one voice: 'Stop!' Besides, Overko's horses were already so used to it that they themselves stopped in front of every tavern. Despite the hot July day, everybody got out of the wagon and went into the low, dingy room where the Jew tavern keeper rushed with signs of joy to welcome his old acquaintances. Under his coat skirts the Jew brought several pork sausages and, having placed them on the table, immediately turned away from this Talmud-forbidden fruit. They all settled around the table. A clay mug appeared in front of each guest. The philosopher Khoma had to take part in the general feasting. And since people in Little Russia, once they get a bit merry, are sure to start kissing each other or weeping, the whole place was soon filled with kissing: 'Well, now, Spirid, give us a smack!' 'Come here, Dorosh, till I embrace you!'
One Cossack who was a bit older than the others, with a gray mustache, rested his cheek on his hand and began sobbing his heart out over his having no father or mother and being left all alone in the world. Another was a great reasoner and kept comforting him, saying: 'Don't cry, by God, don't cry! What's this now… God, He knows how and what it is.' The one named Dorosh became extremely inquisitive and, addressing himself to the philosopher Khoma, kept asking him:
'I'd like to know what they teach you at the seminary-the same as what the deacon reads in church, or something else?'
'Don't ask!' drawled the reasoner. 'Let it all be as it has been. God, He knows how it should be; God knows everything.'
'No,' Dorosh went on, 'I want to know what's written in those books. Maybe something completely different from the deacon's.'
'Oh, my God, my God!' the esteemed mentor said to that. 'What on earth are you talking about? God's will decided it so. It's all as God gave it, they can't go changing it.'
'I want to know all what's written there. I'll go to the seminary, by God, I will! What do you think, that I can't learn? I'll learn all of it, all of it!'
'Oh, my God, my goddy God!…' the comforter said and lowered his head to the table, because he was quite unable to hold it up on his shoulders any longer.
The other Cossacks talked about landowners and why the moon shines in the sky.
The philosopher Khoma, seeing such a disposition of minds, decided to take advantage of it and slip away. First he addressed the gray-haired Cossack who was grieving over his father and mother:
'What's there to cry about, uncle,' he said, 'I'm an orphan myself! Let me go free, lads! What do you need me for?'
'Let's set him free!' some replied. 'He's an orphan. Let him go where he likes.'
'Oh, my God, my goddy God!' the comforter said, raising his head. 'Free him! Let him go!'
And the Cossacks were going to take him to the open fields themselves, but the one who showed his curiosity stopped them, saying:
'Hands off! I want to talk to him about the seminary. I'm going to the seminary myself…'
Anyhow, this escape could hardly have been accomplished, because when the philosopher decided to get up from the table, his legs turned as if to wood, and he began to see so many doors in the room that it was unlikely he could have found the real one.
Only in the evening did this company all remember that they had to be on their way. Scrambling into the wagon, they drove off, urging their horses on and singing a song, the words and meaning of which could hardly be made out. After spending the better half of the night rambling about, constantly losing the way, which they knew by heart, they finally descended a steep hill into a valley, and the philosopher noticed a palisade or wattle fence stretching along the sides, low trees and roofs peeking from behind them. This was the big settlement belonging to the chief. It was long past midnight; the sky was dark and small stars flashed here and there. There was no light in any of the huts. Accompanied by the barking of a dog, they drove into the yard. On both sides thatch-roofed sheds and cottages could be seen. One of them, in the middle, direcdy facing the gates, was bigger than the rest and seemed to be the owner's dwelling. The wagon stopped before something like a small shed, and our travelers went to sleep. The philosopher, however, wanted to look the master's mansion over a little; but however wide he opened his eyes, he could see nothing clearly: instead of the house, he saw a bear; the chimney turned into a rector. The philosopher waved his hand and went to sleep.
When the philosopher woke up, the whole house was astir: during the night the master's daughter had died. Servants ran to and fro in a flurry. Some old woman cried. A crowd of the curious looked through the fence into the master's yard, as if there was anything to be seen there.
The philosopher began leisurely to examine the places he had been unable to make out at night. The master's house was a small, low building such as was commonly built in Little Russia in the old days. It had a thatched roof.
