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"What have the wenches to do? They carry it out in bundles to the

roadside, and the cart brings it away."

"Well, we landowners can't manage well with our laborers," said

Levin, handing him a glass of tea.

"Thank you," said the old man, and he took the glass, but refused

sugar, pointing to a lump he had left. "They're simple

destruction," said he. "Look at Sviazhsky's, for instance. We

know what the land's like-first-rate, yet there's not much of a

crop to boast of. It's not looked after enough-that's all it is!"

"But you work your land with hired laborers?"

"We're all peasants together. We go into everything ourselves. If

a man's no use, he can go, and we can manage by ourselves."

"Father, Finogen wants some tar," said the young woman in the

clogs, coming in.

"Yes, yes, that's how it is, sir!" said the old man, getting up,

and crossing himself deliberately, he thanked Levin and went out.