The baby pressed his little hands against the girl's high breasts, and opening his toothless mouth screamed loudly.
"You're smothering the boy!" said the little one's mother, taking him away; and she unfastened her beshmet to give him the breast.

"You'd better have a chat with the young fellow." "I'll only go and put up my horse and then Nazarka and I will come back; we'll make merry all night," said Lukashka, touching his horse with his whip and riding away from the girls.
Turning into a side street, he and Nazarka rode up to two huts that stood side by side.
"Here we are all right, old fellow! Be quick and come soon!" called Lukashka to his comrade, dismounting in front of one of the huts; then he carefully led his horse in at the gate of the wattle fence of his own home.
"How d'you do, Stepka ?" he said to his dumb sister, who, smartly dressed like the others, came in from the street to take his horse; and he made signs to her to take the horse to the hay, but not to unsaddle it.
The dumb girl made her usual humming noise, smacked her lips as she pointed to the horse and kissed it on the nose, as much as to say that she loved it and that it was a fine horse.
"How d'you do.

Mother?
How is it that you have not gone out yet ?" shouted Lukashka, holding his gun in place as he mounted the steps of the porch.
His old mother opened the door.
"Dear me! I never expected, never thought, you'd come," said the old woman.

"Why, Kirka said you wouldn't be here." "Go and bring some chikhir, Mother.

Nazarka is coming here and we will celebrate the feast day." "Directly, Lukashka, directly!" answered the old woman.