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He felt as he swung his scythe that he was at the very end of his

strength, and was making up his mind to ask Tit to stop. But at

that very moment Tit stopped of his own accord, and stooping down

picked up some grass, rubbed his scythe, and began whetting it.

Levin straightened himself, and drawing a deep breath looked

round. Behind him came a peasant, and he too was evidently tired,

for he stopped at once without waiting to mow up to Levin, and

began whetting his scythe. Tit sharpened his scythe and Levin's,

and they went on. The next time it was just the same. Tit moved

on with sweep after sweep of his scythe, not stopping nor showing

signs of weariness. Levin followed him, trying not to get left

behind, and he found it harder and harder: the moment came when

he felt he had no strength left, but at that very moment Tit

stopped and whetted the scythes.