The little girl thanked him and ran to the priest; and the peasant went down into the cellar, dug out his kopeck, and brought it to the light. He looked at it and clasped his hands: he had recognised his kopeck—the same that with such toil he had won from the bosom of Mother Earth. Lying in the earth again, it had become just as green and rough as it was then.... And the peasant wept bitter tears of anger and grief, for he understood that all his labour had been in vain: he had gained nothing but this same kopeck, which had been his already. Now it must go to the priest again, and wander about the world once more, and every one into whose hands it fell would ride upon his neck. And if by chance it should come into his cottage again, he must only give it away once more, either to the barine or to the priest. * * * * * “_I will give no one my kopeck!_” the peasant decided. [Illustration: “‘GIVE ME THE KOPECK! I’VE LISTENED TO ENOUGH OF YOUR NONSENSE!’” ] He went to the neighbour’s cottage, and saw that the sick man’s lips were already smeared with oil, and in the middle of the room stood the priest, who had collected all kinds of things—cakes, eggs, flaxen threads—and was looking round to see what more he could get. He saw there was nothing more to give, and turned to the peasant. “Well, now give me the kopeck.” “Oh, little father, little father!” said the peasant; “do not rob the Orthodox people!” “You rascal!” cried the priest. “How dare you say such things to your spiritual father!” “Little father, little father! From my very soul I say it;—do not rob the Orthodox people. Think what you are doing, little father!” The priest caught up the baby’s cradle, rushed at the peasant and cried— “Give me the kopeck! I’ve listened to enough of your nonsense!” The peasant answered, holding him by the hands— “No, little father, go your way, and God go with you; I will not give you the kopeck. It would be a sin to encourage your sin.” The priest lifted up the tail of his cassock and rushed straight to the manor-house. He ran in and found the barinya with the officer. The officer was merry, as merry as could be, for he had just asked the barinya to be his wife, and she had consented. “Why, little father, what’s the matter with you?” he asked, laughing. “Has your wife been thrashing you?” “My wife! That would be nothing serious; we could soon settle that. _The peasant has mutinied_, that’s what has happened!” And he told them what the peasant had said. “Well, you’re a fine fellow to call yourself a priest! Your hair may be long, but your head’s short enough! Couldn’t manage a peasant!” “Bring him to me,” said the new barine to his lackey. “I won’t even speak; I’ll just look at him, and you’ll see how tame he’ll get!”