that the miller, who was a bookman and always ready to use his brain if need be, said to himself:
"Goodness, how black my shadow is! It really is strange. When a man's overcoat is whiter than flour why should his shadow be blacker than soot?"
At this point in his reflections he reached the inn kept by Yankel the Jew, which stood on a little hill not far from the village. The Sabbath had been over since sunset, but the innkeeper was not at home; only Kharko was there, the Jew's servant, who took his place on Sabbaths and feast-days. Kharko lit his master's candles for him and collected his debts on each Hebrew holiday, for the Jews, as every one knows, strictly observe the rules of their faith. Do you think a Jew would light a candle or touch money on a holiday? Not he! It would be a sin. Kharko the servant did all that for the innkeeper, and he, his wife, and his children, only followed him sharply with their eyes to see that no stray five or ten copeck pieces wandered into his pocket by accident instead of into the till.
"They're cunning people!" thought the miller to himself. "Oh, they're very cunning! They know how to please their God and catch every penny at the same time. Yes, they're clever people, far cleverer than we are, there's no use denying it!"
He paused on the little patch of earth at the inn door trampled hard by the numberless human feet
