Ivan Ivanitch and Yegorushka reached the little red house, turned to the left down the little alley, and made for the third gate on the right. On both sides of this very old grey gate there was a grey fence with big gaps in it. The first part of the fence was tilting forwards and threatened to fall, while on the left of the gate it sloped backwards towards the yard. The gate itself stood upright and seemed to be still undecided which would suit it best -to fall forwards or backwards. Ivan Ivanitch opened the little gate at the side, and he and Yegorushka saw a big yard overgrown with weeds and burdocks. A hundred paces from the gate stood a little house with a red roof and green shutters. A stout woman with her sleeves tucked up and her apron held out was standing in the middle of the yard, scattering something on the ground and shouting in a voice as shrill as that of the woman selling fruit:
'Chick! . . . Chick! . . . Chick!'
Behind her sat a red dog with pointed ears. Seeing the strangers, he ran to the little gate and broke into a tenor bark (all red dogs have a tenor bark).
'Whom do you want?' asked the woman, putting up her hand to shade her eyes from the sun.
'Good-morning!' Ivan Ivanitch shouted, too, waving off the red dog with his stick. 'Tell me, please, does Nastasya Petrovna Toskunov live here?'
'Yes! But what do you want with her?'
'Perhaps you are Nastasya Petrovna?'
'Well, yes, I am!'
'Very pleased to see you. . . . You see, your old friend Olga Ivanovna Knyasev sends her love to you. This is her little son. And I, perhaps you remember, am her brother Ivan Ivanitch. . . . You are one of us from N. . . . You were born among us and married there. . . .'
A silence followed. The stout woman stared blankly at Ivan Ivanitch, as though not believing or not understanding him, then she flushed all over, and flung up her hands; the oats were scattered out of her apron and tears spurted from her eyes.
'Olga Ivanovna!' she screamed, breathless with excitement. 'My own darling! Ah, holy saints, why am I standing here like a fool? My pretty little angel. . . .'
She embraced Yegorushka, wetted his face with her tears, and broke down completely.
'Heavens!' she said, wringing her hands, 'Olga's little boy! How delightful! He is his mother all over! The image of his mother! But why are you standing in the yard? Come indoors.'
Crying, gasping for breath and talking as she went, she hurried towards the house. Her visitors trudged after her.
'The room has not been done yet,' she said, ushering the visitors into a stuffy little drawing-room adorned with many ikons and pots of flowers. 'Oh, Mother of God! Vassilisa, go and open the shutters anyway! My little angel! My little beauty! I did not know that Olitchka had a boy like that!'
When she had calmed down and got over her first surprise Ivan Ivanitch asked to speak to her alone. Yegorushka went into another room; there was a sewing-machine; in the window was a cage with a starling in it, and there were as many ikons and flowers as in the drawing-room. Near the machine stood a little girl with a sunburnt face and chubby cheeks like Tit's, and a clean cotton dress. She stared at Yegorushka without blinking, and apparently felt very awkward. Yegorushka looked at her and after a pause asked:
'What's your name?'
The little girl moved her lips, looked as if she were going to cry, and answered softly:
'Atka. . . .'
This meant Katka.
'He will live with you,' Ivan Ivanitch was whispering in the drawing-room, 'if you will be so kind, and we will pay ten roubles a month for his keep. He is not a spoilt boy; he is quiet. . . .'
'I really don't know what to say, Ivan Ivanitch!' Nastasya Petrovna sighed tearfully. 'Ten roubles a month is very good, but it is a dreadful thing to take another person's child! He may fall ill or something. . . .'
When Yegorushka was summoned back to the drawing-room Ivan Ivanitch was standing with his hat in his hands, saying good-bye.
'Well, let him stay with you now, then,' he said. 'Good-bye! You stay, Yegor!' he said, addressing his nephew. 'Don't be troublesome; mind you obey Nastasya Petrovna. . . . Good-bye; I am coming again to-morrow.'
And he went away. Nastasya once more embraced Yegorushka, called him a little angel, and with a tear- stained face began preparing for dinner. Three minutes later Yegorushka was sitting beside her, answering her endless questions and eating hot savoury cabbage soup.
In the evening he sat again at the same table and, resting his head on his hand, listened to Nastasya Petrovna. Alternately laughing and crying, she talked of his mother's young days, her own marriage, her children. . . . A cricket chirruped in the stove, and there was a faint humming from the burner of the lamp. Nastasya Petrovna talked in a low voice, and was continually dropping her thimble in her excitement; and Katka her granddaughter, crawled under the table after it and each time sat a long while under the table, probably examining Yegorushka's feet; and Yegorushka listened, half dozing and looking at the old woman's face, her wart with hairs on it, and the stains of tears, and he felt sad, very sad. He was put to sleep on a chest and told that if he were hungry in the night he must go out into the little passage and take some chicken, put there under a plate in the window.
Next morning Ivan Ivanitch and Father Christopher came to say good-bye. Nastasya Petrovna was delighted to see them, and was about to set the samovar; but Ivan Ivanitch, who was in a great hurry, waved his hands and said:
'We have no time for tea! We are just setting off.'
Before parting they all sat down and were silent for a minute. Nastasya Petrovna heaved a deep sigh and looked towards the ikon with tear-stained eyes.
'Well,' began Ivan Ivanitch, getting up, 'so you will stay. . . .'
All at once the look of business-like reserve vanished from his face; he flushed a little and said with a mournful smile:
'Mind you work hard. . . . Don't forget your mother, and obey Nastasya Petrovna. . . . If you are diligent at school, Yegor, I'll stand by you.'
He took his purse out of his pocket, turned his back to Yegorushka, fumbled for a long time among the smaller coins, and, finding a ten-kopeck piece, gave it to Yegorushka.
Father Christopher, without haste, blessed Yegorushka.
'In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. . . . Study,' he said. 'Work hard, my lad. If I die, remember me in your prayers. Here is a ten-kopeck piece from me, too. . . .'
Yegorushka kissed his hand, and shed tears; something whispered in his heart that he would never see the old man again.
'I have applied at the high school already,' said Ivan Ivanitch in a voice as though there were a corpse in the room. 'You will take him for the entrance examination on the seventh of August. . . . Well, good-bye; God bless you, good-bye, Yegor!'
'You might at least have had a cup of tea,' wailed Nastasya Petrovna.
Through the tears that filled his eyes Yegorushka could not see his uncle and Father Christopher go out. He rushed to the window, but they were not in the yard, and the red dog, who had just been barking, was running back from the gate with the air of having done his duty. When Yegorushka ran out of the gate Ivan Ivanitch and Father Christopher, the former waving his stick with the crook, the latter his staff, were just turning the corner. Yegorushka felt that with these people all that he had known till then had vanished from him for ever. He sank helplessly on to the little bench, and with bitter tears greeted the new unknown life that was beginning for him now. . . .
What would that life be like?
End of Project Gutenberg's The Bishop and Other Stories, by Anton Chekhov
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