صفحة 438 من 2288

The crop of clover coming up in the stubble was magnificent. It

had survived everything, and stood up vividly green through the

broken stalks of last year's wheat. The horse sank in up to the

pasterns, and he drew each hoof with a sucking sound out of the

half-thawed ground. Over the ploughland riding was utterly

impossible; the horse could only keep a foothold where there was

ice, and in the thawing furrows he sank deep in at each step. The

ploughland was in splendid condition; in a couple of days it

would be fit for harrowing and sowing. Everything was capital,

everything was cheering. Levin rode back across the streams,

hoping the water would have gone down. And he did in fact get

across, and startled two ducks. "There must be snipe too," he

thought, and just as he reached the turning homewards he met the

forest keeper, who confirmed his theory about the snipe.

Levin went home at a trot, so as to have time to eat his dinner

and get his gun ready for the evening.

Chapter 14