to wipe his feet, so as not to soil the floor, but staggered.
“Don’t trouble to wipe your feet. I will clean it up myself: we are used to such things. Come in and sit down,” said Avdyéitch. “Drink a cup of tea.”
And Avdyéitch filled two glasses, and handed one to his guest; while he himself poured tea into a saucer, and began to blow it.
Stepánuitch finished drinking his glass of tea, turned the glass upside down,[1] put upon it the half-eaten lump of sugar, and began to express his thanks. But it was evident he wanted some more.
“Have some more,” said Avdyéitch, filling both his own glass and his guest’s. Avdyéitch drinks his tea, but from time to time keeps glancing out into the street.
“Are you expecting any one?” asked his guest.
“Am I expecting any one? I am ashamed even to tell whom I expect. I am, and I am not, expecting some one; but one word has impressed itself upon my heart. Whether it is a dream, or something else, I do not know. Don’t you see, brother, I was reading yesterday the gospel about Christ, the Bátiushka;[2] how he suffered, how he walked on the earth. I suppose you have heard about it?”
“Indeed I have,” replied Stepánuitch: “but we are people in darkness; we can’t read.”
“Well, now, I was reading about that very thing,—how he walked upon the earth: I read, you know, how he comes to the Pharisee, and the Pharisee did not treat him hospitably. Well, and so, my brother, I was reading, yesterday, about this very thing, and was thinking to myself how he did not receive Christ, the
