And I thought, "Please God, I will not go to the tavern, which is
possibly kept by a Turk and is very dirty. I will try for a night's
lodging here."
I knocked at the door with my staff.
There was a stirring inside.
"Who is there?"
"One who wants a lodging for the night. It is late to disturb you, but
I fear there will be rain."
A peasant woman came to the door and unbarred it, and let me in.
"Ah, little father," she said, "you come late, and we have little
space, as you see, only one room and a big family, but come in if you
will."
She turned up the little kerosene lamp and looked at me.
"Ai, ai," she said, "a _barin_." She looked at my coat and collar. "It
will be but poor fare here."
"Not a _barin_" I urged, "but a poor wanderer coming from far and
going farther still. I generally sleep under the open sky with God as
my host and the world as my home, but to-night promises storm, and I
fear to take cold in the rain."
The peasant girl, for she was no more, busied herself with the
samovar. "You must have something hot to drink, and some milk and eggs
perhaps. My husband is not yet home from market, but he will come
belike very soon, and will be very glad to find a stranger. He will
rejoice. He always rejoices to give hospitality to strangers upon the
road.
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