he wouldn't notice."
"But my conscience feels ill at ease, brother."
"But you know it's for his sake you are sitting here; it's for his sake you are wearing yourself out."
"Enough!"
"Do you know what, brother, I'll go round and see. . . ."
"Whom?" asked Vasya.
"The Artemyevs. I'll take them your good wishes for the New Year as well as mine."
"My dear fellow! Well, I'll stay here; and I see it's a good idea of yours; I shall be working here, I shan't waste my time. Wait one minute, I'll write a note."
"Yes, do brother, do, there's plenty of time. I've still to wash and shave and to brush my best coat. Well, Vasya, we are going to be contented and happy. Embrace me, Vasya."
"Ah, if only we may, brother. . . ."
"Does Mr. Shumkov live here?" they heard a child's voice on the stairs.
"Yes, my dear, yes," said Mavra, showing the visitor in.
"What's that? What is it?" cried Vasya, leaping up from the table and rushing to the entry, "Petinka, you?"
"Good morning, I have the honour to wish you a happy New Year, Vassily Petrovitch," said a pretty boy of ten years old with curly black hair. "Sister sends you her love, and so does Mamma, and Sister told me to give you a kiss for her."
Vasya caught the messenger up in the air and printed a long, enthusiastic kiss on his lips, which were very much like Lizanka's.
"Kiss him, Arkady," he said handing Petya to him, and without touching the ground the boy was transferred to Arkady Ivanovitch's powerful and eager arms.
"Will you have some breakfast, dear?"
"Thank-you, very much. We have had it already, we got up early to-day, the others have gone to church. Sister was two hours curling my hair, and pomading it, washing me and mending
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