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Levin counted the carts, and was pleased that all that were

wanted had been brought, and at the sight of the meadows his

thoughts passed to the mowing. He always felt something special

moving him to the quick at the hay-making. On reaching the meadow

Levin stopped the horse.

The morning dew was still lying on the thick undergrowth of the

grass, and that he might not get his feet wet, Sergey Ivanovitch

asked his brother to drive him in the trap up to the willow tree

from which the carp was caught. Sorry as Konstantin Levin was to

crush down his mowing grass, he drove him into the meadow. The

high grass softly turned about the wheels and the horse's legs,

leaving its seeds clinging to the wet axles and spokes of the

wheels. His brother seated himself under a bush, arranging his

tackle, while Levin led the horse away, fastened him up, and

walked into the vast gray-green sea of grass unstirred by the

wind. The silky grass with its ripe seeds came almost to his

waist in the dampest spots.