A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES
At first they gossiped of one thing and another, the work of to-morrow, the horses; but suddenly Fedya turned to Ilyusha, and, as though taking up again an interrupted conversation, asked him:
'Come then, so you've seen the domovoy?'
'No, I didn't see him, and no one ever can see him,' answered Ilyusha, in a weak hoarse voice, the sound of which was wonderfully in keeping with the expression of his face; 'I heard him. . . . Yes, and not I alone.'
'Where does he live—in your place?' asked Pavlusha.
'In the old paper-mill.'
'Why, do you go to the factory?'
'Of course we do. My brother Avdushka and I, we are paper-glazers.'
'I say—factory-hands!'
'Well, how did you hear it, then?' asked Fedya.
'It was like this. It happened that I and my brother Avdushka, with Fyodor of Mihyevska, and Ivashka the Squint-eyed, and the other Ivashka who comes from the Red Hills, and Ivashka of Suhorukov too—and there were some other boys there as well—there were ten of us boys there altogether—the whole shift, that is—it happened that we spent the night at the paper-mill; that's to say, it didn't happen, but Nazarov, the overseer, kept us. 'Why,' said he, 'should you waste time going home, boys; there's a lot of work to-morrow, so don't go home, boys." So we stopped, and were all lying down together, and Avdushka had just begun to
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