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"Come, master, dinner time!" he said briskly. And on reaching the

stream the mowers moved off across the lines of cut grass towards

their pile of coats, where the children who had brought their

dinners were sitting waiting for them. The peasants gathered into

groups-those further away under a cart, those nearer under a

willow bush.

Levin sat down by them; he felt disinclined to go away.

All constraint with the master had disappeared long ago. The

peasants got ready for dinner. Some washed, the young lads bathed

in the stream, others made a place comfortable for a rest, untied

their sacks of bread, and uncovered the pitchers of rye-beer. The

old man crumbled up some bread in a cup, stirred it with the

handle of a spoon, poured water on it from the dipper, broke up

some more bread, and having seasoned it with salt, he turned to

the east to say his prayer.

"Come, master, taste my sop," said he, kneeling down before the

cup.