'Only a moment, Father, Vasili Andreevich!' replied Nikita, and
running quickly with his inturned toes in his felt boots with
their soles patched with felt, he hurried across the yard and
into the workmen's hut.
'Arinushka! Get my coat down from the stove. I'm going with
the master,' he said, as he ran into the hut and took down his
girdle from the nail on which it hung.
The workmen's cook, who had had a sleep after dinner and was
now getting the samovar ready for her husband, turned
cheerfully to Nikita, and infected by his hurry began to move
as quickly as he did, got down his miserable worn-out cloth
coat from the stove where it was drying, and began hurriedly
shaking it out and smoothing it down.
'There now, you'll have a chance of a holiday with your good
man,' said Nikita, who from kindhearted politeness always said
something to anyone he was alone with.
Then, drawing his worn narrow girdle round him, he drew in his
breath, pulling in his lean stomach still more, and girdled
himself as tightly as he could over his sheepskin.
'There now,' he said addressing himself no longer to the cook
but the girdle, as he tucked the ends in at the waist, 'now you
won't come undone!' And working his shoulders up and down to
free his arms, he put the coat over his sheepskin, arched his
back more strongly to ease his arms, poked himself under the
armpits, and took down his leather-covered mittens from the
shelf. 'Now we're all right!'
'You ought to wrap your feet up, Nikita. Your boots are very
bad.'
Nikita stopped as if he had suddenly realized this.
'Yes, I ought to. . . . But they'll do like this. It isn't
far!' and he ran out into the yard.
'Won't you be cold, Nikita?' said the mistress as he came up to
the sledge.
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