Bynowthesunhadsetandathickmistaswhiteasmilkwasrisingovertheriver，inthechurchenclosure，andintheopenspacesroundthefactories。Nowwhenthedarknesswascomingonrapidly，whenlightsweretwinklingbelow，andwhenitseemedasthoughthemistswerehidingafathomlessabyss，Lipaandhermotherwhowereborninpovertyandpreparedtolivesotilltheend，givinguptootherseverythingexcepttheirfrightened，gentlesouls，mayhavefanciedforaminuteperhapsthatinthevast，mysteriousworld，amongtheendlessseriesoflives，they，too，countedforsomething，andthey，too，weresuperiortosomeone；theylikedsittinghereatthetop，theysmiledhappilyandforgotthattheymustgodownbelowagainallthesame。
Atlasttheywenthomeagain。Themowersweresittingonthegroundatthegatesneartheshop。AsaruletheUkleevopeasantsdidnotgotoTsybukin’stowork，andtheyhadtohirestrangers，andnowinthedarknessitseemedasthoughthereweremensittingtherewithlongblackbeards。Theshopwasopen，andthroughthedoorwaytheycouldseethedeafmanplayingdraughtswithaboy。Themowersweresingingsoftly，scarcelyaudibly，orloudlydemandingtheirwagesforthepreviousday，buttheywerenotpaidforfeartheyshouldgoawaybeforeto-morrow。OldTsybukin，withhiscoatoff，wassittinginhiswaistcoatwithAksinyaunderthebirch-tree，drinkingtea；alampwasburningonthetable。
“Isay，grandfather，“amowercalledfromoutsidethegates，asthoughtauntinghim，“payushalfanyway！Hey，grandfather。“
Andatoncetherewasthesoundoflaughter，andthenagaintheysanghardlyaudibly。Crutch，too，satdowntohavesometea。
“Wehavebeenatthefair，youknow，“hebegantellingthem。“Wehavehadawalk，averynicewalk，mychildren，praisetheLord。