"Very true, your excellency. You don't want to do us an injury, but there's no one to take care of the house; for while I and the old woman are doing the enforced labor, the boy, though he's so young, is a great help, driving the cattle and watering the horses. Whatever he is, he's a true muzhík;" and Churis, with a smile, took the lad's nose between his fat fingers, and deftly removed the mucus. "Nevertheless, you must send him to school, for now you are at home, and he has plenty of time,--do you hear? Don't you fail." Churis sighed deeply, and made no reply. V. "There's one other thing I wished to speak to you about," said Nekhliudof. "Why don't you haul out your manure?" "What manure, sir,[14] your excellency? There isn't any to haul out. What cattle have I got? One mare and colt; and last autumn I sold my heifer to the porter,--that's all the cattle I've got." [Footnote 14: _bátiushka._] "I know you haven't much, but why did you sell your heifer?" asked the bárin in amazement. "What have I got to feed her on?" "Didn't you have some straw for feeding the cow? The others did." "The others have their fields manured, but my land's all clay. I can't do any thing with it." "Why don't you dress it, then, so it won't be clay? Then the land would give you grain, and you'd have something to feed to your stock." "But I haven't any stock, so how am I going to get dressing?" "That's an odd _cercle vicieux_," said Nekhliudof to himself; and he actually was at his wits' ends to find an answer for the peasant. "And I tell you this, your excellency, it ain't the manure that makes the corn grow, but God," continued the peasant. "Now, one summer I had six sheaves on one little unmanured piece of land, and only a twelfth as much on that which was manured well. No one like God," he added with a sigh. "Yes, and my stock are always dying off. Five years past I haven't had any luck with 'em. Last summer one heifer died; had to sell another, hadn't any thing to feed her on; and last year my best cow perished. They were driving her home from pasture; nothing the matter, but suddenly she staggered and staggered. And so now it's all empty here. Just my bad luck!" "Well, brother, since you say that you have no cattle to help you make fodder, and no fodder for your cattle, here's something towards a cow," said Nekhliudof, reddening, and fetching forth from his pocket a packet of crumpled bank-notes and untying it. "Buy you a cow at my expense, and get some fodder from the granary: I will give orders. See to it that you have a cow by next Sunday. I shall come to see." Churis hesitated long; and when he did not offer to take the money, Nekhliudof laid it down on the end of the table, and a still deeper flush spread over his face. "Many thanks for your kindness," said Churis, with his ordinary smile, which was somewhat sarcastic. The old woman sighed heavily several times as she stood under the loft, and seemed to be repeating a prayer.