all spread over with the dark amber clusters drying in the sun. Daws and magpies crowded round the roofs, picking the seeds and fluttering from one place to another. The fruits of the year’s labour were being merrily gathered in, and this year the fruit was unusually fine and plentiful. In the shady green vineyards amid a sea of vines, laughter, songs, merriment, and the voices of women were to be heard on all sides, and glimpses of their bright-coloured garments could be seen. Just at noon Maryánka was sitting in their vineyard in the shade of a peach-tree, getting out the family dinner from under an unharnessed cart. Opposite her, on a spread-out horse-cloth, sat the cornet (who had returned from the school) washing his hands by pouring water on them from a little jug. Her little brother, who had just come straight out of the pond, stood wiping his face with his wide sleeves, and gazed anxiously at his sister and his mother and breathed deeply, awaiting his dinner. The old mother, with her sleeves rolled up over her strong sunburnt arms, was arranging grapes, dried fish, and clotted cream on a little low, circular Tartar table. The cornet wiped his hands, took off his cap, crossed himself, and moved nearer to the table. The boy seized the jug and eagerly began to drink. The mother and daughter crossed their legs under them and sat down by the table. Even in the shade it was intolerably hot. The air above the vineyard smelt unpleasant: the strong warm wind passing amid the branches brought no coolness, but only monotonously bent the tops of the pear, peach, and mulberry trees with which the vineyard was sprinkled. The cornet, having crossed himself once more, took a little jug of _chikhir_ that stood behind him covered with a vine-leaf, and having had a drink from the mouth of the jug passed it to the old woman. He had nothing on over his shirt, which was unfastened at the neck and showed his shaggy muscular chest. His fine-featured cunning face looked cheerful; neither in his attitude nor in his words was his usual wiliness to be seen; he was cheerful and natural. “Shall we finish the bit beyond the shed tonight?” he asked, wiping his wet beard. “We’ll manage it,” replied his wife, “if only the weather does not hinder us. The Dëmkins have not half finished yet,” she added. “Only Ústenka is at work there, wearing herself out.” “What can you expect of them?” said the old man proudly. “Here, have a drink, Maryánka dear!” said the old woman, passing the jug to the girl. “God willing we’ll have enough to pay for the wedding feast,” she added. “That’s not yet awhile,” said the cornet with a slight frown. The girl hung her head. “Why shouldn’t we mention it?” said the old woman. “The affair is settled, and the time is drawing near too.” “Don’t make plans beforehand,” said the cornet. “Now we have the harvest to get in.”