"The moment I am all ready, I have to go," replied Lukáshka, tying up the powder-bag. "Where is the dumb girl? Has she gone out?"
"I think she is splitting wood. She has been worrying about you all the time. 'I shall not see him,' she said. She pointed with her hand to her face, and clicked and pressed her heart with her hand, as much as to say, 'It is a pity.' Shall I call her? She has understood all about the abrék."
"Call her," said Lukáshka. "I had somewhere some lard, bring it to me. I must grease my sabre."
The old woman went out, and a few minutes later Lukáshka's dumb sister walked over the creaking steps into the room. She was six years older than her brother, and would have resembled him remarkably, but for the dull and coarsely changeable expression of the face, which is common to all the deaf and dumb. Her attire consisted of a coarse shirt in patches; her feet were bare and dirty; on her head she wore a blue kerchief. Her neck, arms, and face were as muscular as a peasant's. It was evident from her garb, and from everything, that she always did a hard man's labour. She brought in an armful of wood which she threw down near the oven. Then she walked up to her brother, with a happy smile, which wrinkled up her whole face, touched him by the shoulder, and began to make rapid signs to him with her hands, her face, and her whole body.
"Well done, well done! A fine girl, Stépka!" replied her brother, shaking his head. You have fixed everything, and mended it, you are a fine girl! Here is something for it!" He took out of his pocket two honey-cakes, and gave them to her.
The dumb girl blushed, and made a wild noise, to express her joy. She took the cakes, and began more rapidly still to make the signs, pointing often in one direction, and passing her stout finger over her brow and
