that lonely clearing, Makar knew not, neither cared to know, but he liked to trade with them, for they neither pressed him too hard nor insisted upon payment.
On entering the hut, Makar went straight to the fireplace and stretched out his frozen hands over the blaze, crying "Tcha" to explain how the frost had nipped him.
The foreigners were at home; a candle was burning on the table although no work was being done. One man was lying on the bed blowing rings of smoke, pensively following their winding curves with his eyes, and intertwining with them the long threads of his thoughts.
The other was sitting over the fire thoughtfully watching the sparks that crept across the burning wood.
"Hello !" said Makar, to break the oppressive silence.
He did not know how should he the sadness that filled the hearts of the two strangers, the memories that crowded their brains that evening, the visions they saw in the fantastic play of fire and smoke. Be- sides, he had troubles of his own.
The young man who sat by the chimney raised his head and looked at Makar with puzzled eyes, as if not recognising him. Then, with a shake of his head, he quickly got up from his chair.
