'But, our father, all right--for whom? For peasants like us it's all right; but for you ... oh, our father, our gracious protector! oh, you ... our father!... Pardon an old fool like me; I'm off my head, bless me! I'm gone clean crazy.' Meanwhile supper was served; Arkady Pavlitch began to eat. The old man packed his son off, saying he smelt too strong. 'Well, settled the division of land, old chap, hey?' enquired Mr. Pyenotchkin, obviously trying to imitate the peasant speech, with a wink to me. 'We've settled the land shares, your honour; all by your gracious favour. Day before yesterday the list was made out. The Hlinovsky folks made themselves disagreeable about it at first ... they were disagreeable about it, certainly. They wanted this ... and they wanted that ... and God knows what they didn't want! but they're a set of fools, your honour!--an ignorant lot. But we, your honour, graciously please you, gave an earnest of our gratitude, and satisfied Nikolai Nikolaitch, the mediator; we acted in everything according to your orders, your honour; as you graciously ordered, so we did, and nothing did we do unbeknown to Yegor Dmitritch.' 'Yegor reported to me,' Arkady Pavlitch remarked with dignity. 'To be sure, your honour, Yegor Dmitritch, to be sure.' 'Well, then, now I suppose you 're satisfied.' Sofron had only been waiting for this. 'Ah, you are our father, our benefactor!' he began, in the same sing-song as before. 'Indeed, now, your honour ... why, for you, our father, we pray day and night to God Almighty.... There's too little land, of course....' Pyenotchkin cut him short. 'There, that'll do, that'll do, Sofron; I know you're eager in my service.... Well, and how goes the threshing?' Sofron sighed. 'Well, our father, the threshing's none too good. But there, your honour, Arkady Pavlitch, let me tell you about a little matter that came to pass.' (Here he came closer to Mr. Pyenotchkin, with his arms apart, bent down, and screwed up one eye.) 'There was a dead body found on our land.' 'How was that?' 'I can't think myself, your honour; it seems like the doing of the evil one. But, luckily, it was found near the boundary; on our side of it, to tell the truth. I ordered them to drag it on to the neighbour's strip of land at once, while it was still possible, and set a watch there, and sent word round to our folks. "Mum's the word," says I. But I explained how it was to the police officer in case of the worst. "You see how it was," says I; and of course I had to treat him and slip some notes into his hand.... Well, what do you say, your honour? We shifted the burden on to other shoulders; you see a dead body's a matter of two hundred roubles, as sure as ninepence.' Mr. Pyenotchkin laughed heartily at his agent's cunning, and said several times to me, indicating him with a nod, '_Quel gaillard_, eh!'