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"Well, you should have taken some men from the thatching."

"And so I have, as it is."

"Where are the peasants, then?"

"Five are making compote" (which meant compost), "four are

shifting the oats for fear of a touch of mildew, Konstantin

Dmitrievitch."

Levin knew very well that "a touch of mildew" meant that his

English seed oats were already ruined. Again they had not done as

he had ordered.

"Why, but I told you during Lent to put in pipes," he cried.

"Don't put yourself out; we shall get it all done in time."

Levin waved his hand angrily, went into the granary to glance at

the oats, and then to the stable. The oats were not yet spoiled.

But the peasants were carrying the oats in spades when they might

simply let them slide down into the lower granary; and arranging

for this to be done, and taking two workmen from there for sowing

clover, Levin got over his vexation with the bailiff. Indeed, it

was such a lovely day that one could not be angry.