"And how is Nikanor getting on?" the bishop asked about his eldest
brother.

"He is all right, thank God. Though he has nothing much, yet he can
live. Only there is one thing: his son, my grandson Nikolasha, did
not want to go into the Church; he has gone to the university to
be a doctor. He thinks it is better; but who knows! His Holy Will!"

"Nikolasha cuts up dead people," said Katya, spilling water over
her knees.

"Sit still, child," her grandmother observed calmly, and took the
glass out of her hand. "Say a prayer, and go on eating."

"How long it is since we have seen each other!" said the bishop,
and he tenderly stroked his mother's hand and shoulder; "and I
missed you abroad, mother, I missed you dreadfully."

"Thank you."

"I used to sit in the evenings at the open window, lonely and alone;
often there was music playing, and all at once I used to be overcome
with homesickness and felt as though I would give everything only
to be at home and see you."

His mother smiled, beamed, but at once she made a grave face and
said:

"Thank you."