The lackey went to fetch the peasant, and the barine twirled his moustaches and waited to show off his courage to the priest and the barinya. Presently the lackey came back with the peasant, and stood at the door. “Bring him here!” said the barine; “let me look at him.” And he glanced sideways, now at the priest, now at the barinya. They brought in the peasant. The barine stood in the middle of the room, with his left arm akimbo, his right hand in his pocket, and his neck stretched out, clenching his teeth and rolling his eyes. The peasant looked at him, and got quite frightened. “Little father!” he cried, “you must be ill! Wait a minute, poor fellow, I’ll bring you some water to drink!” Without waiting for an answer, he ran out into the yard, took off his greasy cap, filled it from the water-tub, and brought it to the barine. “There, little father, drink!” But the barine sat blinking his eyes; he was ashamed before the priest and the barinya. The barinya flew at the peasant; she was almost ready to tear his beard out. “How dare you bring the barine water in your filthy cap?” she cried. He emptied the water out of the window and asked the barine— “What do you want with me?” The barine had recovered himself; he leaned back in the armchair, put his hands in his pockets, and said— “What are you mutinying for, my friend?” “Mutiny? It’s a sin for the priest to rob the people, and to encourage him is a sin too; that’s all!” “What do you mean, my friend? Why, the priest is your spiritual father. Do you want him to live by his own labour, instead of yours? I suppose you’ll say next that I ought to support myself too, instead of your working for me!” “You’re no fool, even if you are a barine,” said the peasant. “You have just guessed it; I won’t pay you either.” The barine started up as if he had been stung, rushed at the peasant and demanded the kopeck of him; but it was no use, the peasant would not give him the kopeck. The peasant went home, but officer, priest, and barinya sat thinking what they should do with him. They thought and thought, and at last agreed to send a message to the Stanovòy, that the peasant had mutinied, and would not give up his kopeck, and that the Stanovòy must come and manage him. The Stanovòy turned quite white when he read the letter. “Heavens!” he thought; “my end is come, the peasant will murder me!” However, he was an official, and must go. He put four pistols into his belt, mounted his fleetest horse and rode off. He rode slowly till he came to a hundred paces from the peasant’s cottage, then started his horse at a furious gallop, and rushed past the cottage like a whirlwind, crying out— “Give up the kopeck! Give up the kopeck, you villain! I will tear you in pieces if you don’t; I will sweep you off the face of the earth!” And he lashed his horse furiously.