The widow was surrounded with sugar on all sides.

The monk from the monastery sighed; all this might have gone to the monastery that day as it had done on former occasions.
"What am I to do with so much," the widow sighed obsequiously.

"It's enough to make one person sick!...

Is it some sort of a prophecy, father ?" "Be sure it's by way of a prophecy," said some one in the crowd.
"Another pound for her, another!" Semyon Yakovlevitch persisted.
There was a whole sugar-loaf still on the table, but the saint ordered a pound to be given, and they gave her a pound.
"Lord have mercy on us!" gasped the people, crossing themselves.

"It's surely a prophecy." "Sweeten your heart for the future with mercy and loving kindness, and then come to make complaints against your own children; bone of your bone.