'No, they've not; but, of course, they ought to take it off. A nail's been driven right into the flesh, I should say.' I ordered the coachman to be summoned. It turned out that Yermolaï had spoken the truth: the shaft-horse really could not put its hoof to the ground. I promptly gave orders for it to have the shoe taken off, and to be stood on damp clay. 'Then do you wish me to hire horses to go to Tula?' Yermolaï persisted. 'Do you suppose we can get horses in this wilderness?' I exclaimed with involuntary irritation. The village in which we found ourselves was a desolate, God-forsaken place; all its inhabitants seemed to be poverty-stricken; we had difficulty in discovering one hut, moderately roomy, and even that one had no chimney. 'Yes,' replied Yermolaï with his habitual equanimity; 'what you said about this village is true enough; but there used to be living in this very place one peasant--a very clever fellow! rich too! He had nine horses. He's dead, and his eldest son manages it all now. The man's a perfect fool, but still he's not had time to waste his father's wealth yet. We can get horses from him. If you say the word, I will fetch him. His brothers, I've heard say, are smart chaps...but still, he's their head.' 'Why so?' 'Because--he's the eldest! Of course, the younger ones must obey!' Here Yermolaï, in reference to younger brothers as a class, expressed himself with a vigour quite unsuitable for print. 'I'll fetch him. He's a simple fellow. With him you can't fail to come to terms.' While Yermolaï went after his 'simple fellow' the idea occurred to me that it might be better for me to drive into Tula myself. In the first place, taught by experience, I had no very great confidence in Yermolaï: I had once sent him to the town for purchases; he had promised to get through all my commissions in one day, and was gone a whole week, drank up all the money, and came back on foot, though he had set off in my racing droshky. And, secondly, I had an acquaintance in Tula, a horsedealer; I might buy a horse off him to take the place of the disabled shaft-horse. 'The thing's decided!' I thought; 'I'll drive over myself; I can sleep just as well on the road--luckily, the coach is comfortable.' 'I've brought him!' cried Yermolaï, rushing into the hut a quarter of an hour later. He was followed by a tall peasant in a white shirt, blue breeches, and bast shoes, with white eyebrows and short-sighted eyes, a wedge-shaped red beard, a long swollen nose, and a gaping mouth. He certainly did look 'simple.' 'Here, your honour,' observed Yermolaï, 'he has horses--and he's willing.' 'So be, surely, I'... the peasant began hesitatingly in a rather hoarse voice, shaking his thin wisps of hair, and drumming with his fingers on the band of the cap he held in his hands.... 'Surely, I....' 'What's your name?' I inquired. The peasant looked down and seemed to think deeply. 'My name?' 'Yes; what are you called?' 'Why my name 'ull be--Filofey.'