Nychypir took the dried roach, smelt it with a whistle and, handing it over to the guest, solemnly sat down at the cauldron, whose fragrance had spread throughout the grove.
They dined in silence, only wheezing and scraping away with their spoons. And after they had finished, Overko ahemmed and drawled dreamily: “A fine kasha... All we need now is a glass of something...”
“That has to be another time,” Dolia said decisively and turned toward Skovoroda. “I hope our guest forgives us...”
“It’s all the same to me, whether there’s a glass to drink or not!” Hryhoriy gladdened them.
“That can’t be!” Overko called out. “It’s not a pair of boots or pants for you...!”
“And not a pistol!”
“Come on, that’s a bit much.”
“Forgotten how you drank away your pistol, Overko?”
Joking, they filled th
