Not till he was close to it could Lukishka discern the fence of his yard, all wet with dew, the porch of the hut, and the open shed.

From the misty yard he heard the sound of an axe chopping wood.
Lukashka entered the hut.

His mother was up, and stood at the oven throwing wood into it.

His little sister was still lying in bed asleep.
'Well, Lukashka, had enough holiday-making ?' asked his mother softly.
'Where did you spend the night ?' 'I was in the village,' replied her son reluctantly, reaching for his musket, which he drew from its cover and examined carefully.
His mother swayed her head.
Lukashka poured a little gunpowder onto the pan, took out a little bag from which he drew some empty cartridge cases which he began filling, carefully plugging each one with a ball wrapped in a rag.

Then, having tested the loaded cartridges with his teeth and examined them, he put down the bag.
'I say, Mother, I told you the bags wanted mending; have they been done ?' he asked.
'Oh yes, our dumb girl was mending something last night.