XVII.
From Eróshka's Lukáshka went home. As he was going back, a damp mist had risen from the ground and shrouded the village. The cattle could not be seen, but were heard stirring in all directions. The cocks called each other more frequently and more noisily. The air grew more transparent, and people were getting up. Coming close to his home, Lukáshka made out the fence, wet from the mist, the porch of the cabin, and the open stall. In the yard the sound of wood-chopping could be heard though the mist. Lukáshka walked into the cabin. His mother was up and, standing in front of the oven, was throwing some billets of wood into it. His young sister was still asleep on the bed.
"Well, Lukáshka, have you had your spree?" his mother asked, quietly. "Where were you last night?"
"In the village," her son answered, unwillingly, getting his musket out of the case, and examining it.
His mother shook her head.
Having put some powder on the pan, Lukáshka took down the pouch, drew from it several empty shells, and began to fill the cartridges, carefully closing them up with a small bullet wrapped in a rag. He pulled out the filled cartridges with his teeth, and examined them, and then put away the pouch.
"Well, mother, I told you to fix the bags. Have you mended them?" he said.
"Of course! The dumb girl mended them last night. Is it time for you to go back to the cordon? I have not had a chance to see you."
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