Theybeganringingthebellsinthechurchontheothersideoftheriver。
Neartheburninghutitwashotandsolightthatonecoulddistinctlyseeeverybladeofgrass。Semyon，ared-hairedpeasantwithalongnose，wearingareefer-jacketandacappulleddownrightoverhisears，satononeoftheboxeswhichtheyhadsucceededinbringingout:hiswifewaslyingonherface，moaningandunconscious。Alittleoldmanofeighty，withabigbeard，wholookedlikeagnome——notoneofthevillagers，thoughobviouslyconnectedinsomewaywiththefire——walkedaboutbareheaded，withawhitebundleinhisarms。Theglarewasreflectedonhisbaldhead。Thevillageelder，AntipSyedelnikov，asswarthyandblack-hairedasagypsy，wentuptothehutwithanaxe，andhackedoutthewindowsoneafteranother——nooneknewwhy——thenbeganchoppinguptheroof。
“Women，water！“heshouted。“Bringtheengine！Looksharp！“
Thepeasants，whohadbeendrinkinginthetavernjustbefore，draggedtheengineup。Theywerealldrunk；theykeptstumblingandfallingdown，andallhadahelplessexpressionandtearsintheireyes。
“Wenches，water！“shoutedtheelder，whowasdrunk，too。“Looksharp，wenches！“