answering that question, let me describe to you one of my visits at Mardary Apollonitch's. I arrived one summer evening at seven o'clock. An evening service was only just over; the priest, a young man, apparently very timid, and only lately come from the seminary, was sitting in the drawing-room near the door, on the extreme edge of a chair. Mardary Apollonitch received me as usual, very cordially; he was genuinely delighted to see any visitor, and indeed he was the most good-natured of men altogether. The priest got up and took his hat. 'Wait a bit, wait a bit, father,' said Mardary Apollonitch, not yet leaving go of my hand; 'don't go ... I have sent for some vodka for you.' 'I never drink it, sir,' the priest muttered in confusion, blushing up to his ears. 'What nonsense!' answered Mardary Apollonitch; 'Mishka! Yushka! vodka for the father!' Yushka, a tall, thin old man of eighty, came in with a glass of vodka on a dark-coloured tray, with a few patches of flesh-colour on it, all that was left of the original enamel. The priest began to decline. 'Come, drink it up, father, no ceremony; it's too bad of you,' observed the landowner reproachfully. The poor young man had to obey. 'There, now, father, you may go.' The priest took leave. 'There, there, that'll do, get along with you....' 'A capital fellow,' pursued Mardary Apollonitch, looking after him, 'I like him very much; there's only one thing--he's young yet. But how are you, my dear sir?... What have you been doing? How are you? Let's come out on to the balcony--such a lovely evening.' We went out on the balcony, sat down, and began to talk. Mardary Apollonitch glanced below, and suddenly fell into a state of tremendous excitement. 'Whose hens are those? whose hens are those?' he shouted: 'Whose are those hens roaming about in the garden?... Whose are those hens? How many times I've forbidden it! How many times I've spoken about it!' Yushka ran out. 'What disorder!' protested Mardary Apollonitch; 'it's horrible!' The unlucky hens, two speckled and one white with a topknot, as I still remember, went on stalking tranquilly about under the apple-trees, occasionally giving vent to their feelings in a prolonged clucking, when suddenly Yushka, bareheaded and stick in hand, with three other house-serfs of mature years, flew at them simultaneously. Then the fun began. The hens clucked, flapped their wings, hopped, raised a deafening cackle; the house-serfs ran, tripping up and tumbling over; their master shouted from the balcony like one possessed: 'Catch 'em, catch 'em, catch 'em, catch 'em, catch 'em, catch 'em, catch 'em!' At last one servant succeeded in catching the hen with the topknot, tumbling upon her, and at the very same moment a little girl of eleven, with dishevelled hair, and a dry branch in her hand, jumped over the garden-fence from the village street.