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The work done was exceptionally much for forty-two men. They had

cut the whole of the big meadow, which had, in the years of serf

labor, taken thirty scythes two days to mow. Only the corners

remained to do, where the rows were short. But Levin felt a

longing to get as much mowing done that day as possible, and was

vexed with the sun sinking so quickly in the sky. He felt no

weariness; all he wanted was to get his work done more and more

quickly and as much done as possible.

"Could you cut Mashkin Upland too?-what do you think?" he said to

the old man.

"As God wills, the sun's not high. A little vodka for the lads?"

At the afternoon rest, when they were sitting down again, and

those who smoked had lighted their pipes, the old man told the

men that "Mashkin Upland's to be cut-there'll be some vodka."

"Why not cut it? Come on, Tit! We'll look sharp! We can eat at

night. Come on!" cried voices, and eating up their bread, the

mowers went back to work.