Simon did as Michael advised, and undertook to make boots that would not
lose shape or split for a whole year.
Calling his servant, the gentleman told him to pull the boot off his
left leg, which he stretched out.
"Take my measure!" said he.
Simon stitched a paper measure seventeen inches long, smoothed it out,
knelt down, wiped his hand well on his apron so as not to soil the
gentleman's sock, and began to measure. He measured the sole, and round
the instep, and began to measure the calf of the leg, but the paper was
too short. The calf of the leg was as thick as a beam.
"Mind you don't make it too tight in the leg."
Simon stitched on another strip of paper. The gentleman twitched his
toes about in his sock, looking round at those in the hut, and as he did
so he noticed Michael.
"Whom have you there?" asked he.
"That is my workman. He will sew the boots."
"Mind," said the gentleman to Michael, "remember to make them so that
they will last me a year."
Simon also looked at Michael, and saw that Michael was not looking at
the gentleman, but was gazing into the corner behind the gentleman, as
if he saw some one there. Michael looked and looked, and suddenly he
smiled, and his face became brighter.
"What are you grinning at, you fool?" thundered the gentleman. "You had
better look to it that the boots are ready in time."
"They shall be ready in good time," said Michael.
"Mind it is so," said the gentleman, and he put on his boots and his fur
coat, wrapped the latter round him, and went to the door. But he forgot
to stoop, and struck his head against the lintel.
He swore and rubbed his head. Then he took his seat in the carriage and
drove away.
When he had gone, Simon said: "There's a figure of a man for you! You
could not kill him with a mallet. He almost knocked out the lintel, but
little harm it did him."
And Matryona said: "Living as he does, how should he not grow strong?
Death itself can't touch such a rock as that."