Ivan Koloturov did not understand what he would have to do, but when the fierce wave of the Revolution broke over the country and swept into the Steppe, he was the first to rise to "do things." Now he felt disillusioned. He had wanted to do everything honestly, but he was only able to work with his hands and muscles. They elected him to the County Committee. He was accustomed to rise before dawn and set to work immediately. Now he was not permitted to do anything before ten o'clock. At ten he went to the Committee where, with the greatest difficulty, he put his name to papers--but this was not work: papers came in and went out independently of him. He did not understand their purport, he only signed them. He wanted to do something! In the spring he went home to the plough. He had been elected in the Autumn, President of the Committee of the Poor, and he established himself in Prince Prozorovsky's domain, putting on his soldier brother's great coat and carrying a revolver in his belt. He went home in the evening. His wife met him sullenly, jerking her elbows as she prepared some mash. The children were sitting on the stove, some little pigs grunted in a corner. There was a strong smell of burning wood. "You won't care to eat with us now after the Barin's meal," nagged the old woman. "You are a Barin yourself now. Ha, ha!" Ivan remained silent, sitting down on a bench beneath the Ikon. "So you mix with rascals now," she persisted, "yes, that is what they are, Ivan Koloturov. Discontented rascals!" "Peace, fool! You don't understand. Be quiet, I say!" "You are ashamed of me, so you are hiding." "We will live there together--soon." "Not I! I will not go there." "Idiot!" "Ah, you have already learnt to snarl," the old woman jibed. "Ate your mash then! But perhaps you don't relish it after your Barin's pork." She was right, he had already eaten--pork, and she had guessed it. Ivan began to puff. "You are an idiot, I tell you," he growled. He had come home to have a business talk about their affairs, but he left without settling anything. The old woman's sharp tongue had stung him in a tender spot. It was true that all the respectable peasants had stood aside, and only those who had nothing to lose had joined the Committee. Ivan passed through the village. As he walked across the park, he saw a light burning in the stables and went over to discover the reason. He found some lads had assembled there and were playing cards and smoking. He watched them awhile, frowningly. "This is stupid! You will set the place alight," he grumbled. "What if we do?" the men answered sulkily. "It is for you to defend other people's property?" "Not other peoples'--ours!" he retorted, then turned away. "Ivan!" they shouted after him; "have you the wine-cellar key? There are spirits in there--if you don't give it to us, we shall break in...."