Besides the usual sunflower, poppy, and cabbage, his vegetable garden grew two rows of tobacco every year. All this Solokha planned to add to her own holdings, and she liked to imagine what shape Chub’s property would take when it passed into her hands. To prevent it from falling into her son Vakula’s possession, should he decide to marry Oksana, she resorted to the favorite strategy of all forty-year-old flirts: she pitted Vakula against Chub as often as she could.

Solokha’s sly tricks inspired local gossip that she was a witch. A village youngster saw her tail, as big as a spindle; as recently as last Thursday she had run across someone’s path in the shape of a black cat; according to the priest’s wife, Solokha had walked into her house as a pig, crowed like a rooster, grabbed the priest’s hat, and run off. The village shepherd reported he saw a witch walk into the manger, milk the cows, and then rub his lips with a substance so vile that he was spitting it for a week. All these reports were highly doubtful, for, as we know, only Sorochintsy’s property assessor can spot a witch, which is why the respectable Cossacks ignored all the yakking.

Solokha began to tidy up her house without touching the coal sacks: Vakula brought them in, he could take them out. As for the devil, when he was about to go down the chimney he happened to glance back and notice Chub and kum already at a considerable distance from home. Instantly he flew over and began to dig up snowdrifts on both sides of the road, creating a blizzard. The air became white and thick with hurtling snow—any passerby risked getting his eyes, nose, and mouth clogged within seconds. The devil, pleased with his work, returned to the chimney. He was certain the blizzard would force Chub to turn back. On catching Vakula with his daughter, Chub was sure to give the blacksmith such a thrashing that for a long time he’d be unable to paint insulting caricatures.

*   *   *

Indeed, as soon as the blizzard began, Chub bitterly regretted his decision and cursed himself, kum, and the devil. Chub’s cursing, truth be told, wasn’t altogether sincere. He welcomed the blizzard as a respectable excuse to turn back, which is what they promptly did. The wind now blew at their back, but they still couldn’t see anything.

“Stop. We’ve lost the road,” Chub yelled out to kum. “You go look for it over there, and I’ll look over here.” The road, however, was nowhere to be found. The only discovery kum made, plowing back and forth through the deep snow, was the tavern. It excited him so much that he forgot about Chub and the deacon’s party and hurried inside, shaking off the snow.

In the meantime, Chub found the road and, soon afterward, his house. He yelled out to kum but got no response. The house was half buried in snow. Chub banged loudly on the door, summoning his daughter. But then he heard the blacksmith bark, “What do you want?”

Chub stepped back into the snow. “This can’t be my house,” he thought. “The blacksmith wouldn’t dare come here. On the other hand, it’s not his house, either. I know: it’s lame Levchenko’s, he recently took a young wife. His house looks like mine. But Levchenko is at the deacon’s party, so why is the blacksmith here? Aha, I see: he visits Levchenko’s wife!”

“Who are you, and what business have you here?” Vakula repeated more sternly, stepping closer to the indistinct shape.

“I’m not telling him who I am,” thought Chub, “or the mean bastard will slug me.”

“I’m just a poor caroler, dear host,” he replied, changing his voice.

“Go to the devil with your carols. Go on now!”

Chub was of a mind to oblige, but he also felt annoyance at being ordered by the blacksmith and felt the need to talk back, as though the devil himself were provoking him.

“What are you yelling for? It’s Christmas Eve.