"What the devil!" said the philosopher Khoma Brut. "It certainly looked as if there'd be a farmstead."

The theologian said nothing; he looked around, then put his pipe back in his mouth, and they all went on their way.

"By God!" the philosopher said, stopping again. "It's as dark as the devil's fist."

"Maybe there'll be some farm further on," said the theologian, without releasing his pipe.

Meanwhile, however, it was already night, and a rather dark night at that. Clouds made it gloomier still, and by all tokens neither stars nor moon were to be expected. The students noticed that they had lost their way and for a long while had not been walking on the road.

The philosopher, after feeling in all directions with his feet, at last said abruptly:

"But where's the road?"

The theologian pondered silently and observed:

"Yes, it's a dark night."

The rhetorician stepped to one side and tried to feel for the road on all fours, but his hands kept ending up in fox holes. Everywhere there was nothing but steppe where it seemed no one passed. The travelers made another effort to move forward a bit, but everywhere was the same wilderness. The philosopher tried shouting, but his voice was completely muffled on all sides and met no response. Only a little later came a faint wailing that resembled the howling of a wolf.

"Well, what do we do now?" said the philosopher.

"Why, we stay and spend the night in the fields!" said the theologian, and he went to his pocket to get his tinderbox and light up his pipe again. But the philosopher could not agree to that. He had always been in the habit of packing away a ten-pound hunk of bread and some four pounds of lard before going to bed and this time felt a sort of unbearable solitude in his stomach. Besides, for all his merry disposition, the philosopher was somewhat afraid of wolves.

"No, Khalyava, we can't," he said. "What, lie down and stretch out like some dog without fortifying ourselves? Let's try again, maybe we'll happen onto some dwelling and manage to get at least a glass of vodka for the night."

At the word vodka the theologian spat to one side and observed:

"Sure, there's no point staying in the fields."

The students went on and, to their greatest joy, fancied they heard a distant barking. Figuring out the direction, they listened, set off more cheerfully and, after going a little further, saw a light.

"A farmstead! By God, a farmstead!" said the philosopher.

His anticipation did not disappoint him: in a short while they indeed saw a small farmstead that consisted of just two cottages sharing the same yard. There was light in the windows. A dozen plum trees stuck up by the paling. Peeking through cracks in the boards of the gates, the students saw a yard filled with ox carts. Just then stars appeared here and there in the sky.

"Watch out, brothers, don't hang back! We must get a night's lodging at all costs!"

The three learned men knocked at the gate with one accord and shouted:

"Open up!"

The door of one cottage creaked, and a minute later the students saw before them an old woman in a sheepskin coat.

"Who's there?" she cried with a muffled cough.

"Let us in for the night, granny. We've lost our way. It's as bad out in the fields as it is in a hungry belly."

"And what sort of folk are you?"

"We're harmless folk: the theologian Khalyava, the philosopher Brut, and the rhetorician Gorobets."

"Can't do it," the old woman grumbled. "I've got a yard full of people, and every corner of the cottage is taken. Where will I put you? And such big and hefty folk at that! My cottage will fall apart if I take in the likes of you. I know these philosophers and theologians. Once you start taking in those drunkards, there soon won't be any house. Away! Away with you! There's no room for you here!"

"Have mercy, granny! Can it be that Christian souls must perish for no reason at all? Put us up wherever you like. And if we somehow do something or other-let our arms wither, and whatever else God only knows. There!"

The old woman seemed to soften a little.

"Very well," she said, as if considering, "I'll let you in. Only I'll make you all sleep in different places, for my heart won't be at peace if you lie together."

"That's as you will, we won't object," replied the students.

The gates creaked and they went into the yard.

"Well, granny," said the philosopher, following the old woman, "and what if, as they say… by God, it's as if wheels are turning in my stomach. We haven't had a sliver in our mouths since morning."

"See what he's after!" the old woman said. "I've got nothing, nothing like that, and I didn't start the stove all day."

"And tomorrow," the philosopher went on, "we'll pay for it all, well and good, in cash. Yes," he went on softly, "the devil of a cent you'll get!"

"Go on, go on! and be content with what you've got. Such tender young sirs the devil's brought us!"

The philosopher Khoma became utterly despondent at these words. But suddenly his nose caught the scent of dried fish. He glanced at the trousers of the theologian walking beside him and saw an enormous fish tail sticking out of his pocket: the theologian had already managed to snatch a whole carp off a wagon. And since he had done it not for any profit but simply from habit, and, having forgotten his carp completely, was looking around for something else to filch, not intending to overlook even a broken wheel, the philosopher Khoma put his hand into his pocket as if it were his very own and pulled out the carp.

The old woman got the students installed: the rhetorician was put in the cottage, the theologian was shut up in an empty closet, the philosopher was assigned to the sheep pen, also empty.

The philosopher, left alone, ate the carp in one minute, exam- ined the wattled sides of the pen, shoved his foot into the curious snout that a pig had poked through from the next pen, and rolled over on his other side in order to fall into a dead sleep. Suddenly the low door opened and the old woman, stooping down, came into the pen.

"Well, granny, what do you want?" said the philosopher.

But the old woman came toward him with outspread arms.

"Oh-ho!" thought the philosopher. "Only no, dearie, you're obsolete!" He moved slightly further off, but again the old woman unceremoniously came toward him.

"Listen, granny," said the philosopher, "it's a fast period, 5 and I'm the sort of man who won't break his fast even for a thousand gold roubles."

But the old woman kept spreading her arms and grasping for him without saying a word.

The philosopher became frightened, especially when he noticed that her eyes flashed with some extraordinary light.

"Granny! what is it? Go, go with God!" he cried.

But the old woman did not say a word and kept grabbing for him with her arms.

He jumped to his feet, intending to flee, but the old woman stood in the doorway, fixing her flashing eyes on him, and again began to come toward him.

The philosopher wanted to push her away with his hands, but noticed to his astonishment that his arms would not rise, nor would his legs move; with horror he discovered that the sound of his voice would not even come from his mouth: the words stirred soundlessly on his lips. He heard only how his own heart was beating; he saw how the old woman came up to him, folded his arms, bent his neck, jumped with catlike quickness onto his back, struck him on the side with a broom, and he, leaping like a saddle horse, carried her on his back. All this happened so quickly that the philosopher barely managed to recover his senses and seize both his knees with his hands in an effort to stop his legs; but, to his great amazement, they kept moving against his will and performed leaps quicker than a Circassian racer. When they passed the farmstead, and a smooth hollow opened out before them, and the coal-black forest spread out to one side, only then did he say to himself: "Oh-oh, this is a witch!"