صفحة 768 من 2288

Levin looked more attentively at Ivan Parmenov and his wife. They

were loading a haycock onto the cart not far from him. Ivan

Parmenov was standing on the cart, taking, laying in place, and

stamping down the huge bundles of hay, which his pretty young

wife deftly handed up to him, at first in armfuls, and then on

the pitchfork. The young wife worked easily, merrily, and

dexterously. The close-packed hay did not once break away off her

fork. First she gathered it together, stuck the fork into it,

then with a rapid, supple movement leaned the whole weight of her

body on it, and at once with a bend of her back under the red

belt she drew herself up, and arching her full bosom under the

white smock, with a smart turn swung the fork in her arms, and

flung the bundle of hay high onto the cart. Ivan, obviously doing

his best to save her every minute of unnecessary labor, made

haste, opening his arms to clutch the bundle and lay it in the

cart.