IVÁN ZYÁBREV. Get me a drink of water. Maláshka goes back into the hut, from where the baby can be heard screaming. She brings a bowl of water. IVÁN ZYÁBREV. Why do you always beat the youngster and make him howl? I'll tell mother. MALÁSHKA. Tell her then. It's hunger makes him howl! IVÁN ZYÁBREV [drinks] You should go and ask the Démkins for some milk. MALÁSHKA. I went, but there wasn't any. And there was no one at home. IVÁN ZYÁBREV. Oh! if only I could die! Have they rung for dinner? MALÁSHKA. They have. Here's the master coming. Enter Nicholas Ivánovich. NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. Why have you come out here? IVÁN ZYÁBREV. Too many flies in there, and it's too hot. NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. Then you're warm now? IVÁN ZYÁBREV. Yes, now I'm burning all over. NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. And where is Peter? Is he at home? IVÁN ZYÁBREV. At home, at this time? Why, he's gone to the field to cart the corn. NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. And I hear that they want to put him in prison. IVÁN ZYÁBREV. That's so, the Policeman has gone to the field for him. Enter a pregnant Woman, carrying a sheaf of oats and a rake. She immediately hits Maláshka on the back of the head. WOMAN. What d'you mean by leaving the baby? Don't you hear him howling! Running about the streets is all _you_ know. MALÁSHKA [howling] I've only just come out. Daddy wanted a drink. WOMAN. I'll give it you. [She sees the land-owner, N. I. Sarýntsov] Good-day, sir. Children are a trouble! I'm quite done up, everything on my shoulders, and now they're taking our only worker to prison, and this lout is sprawling about here. NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. What are you saying? He's quite ill! WOMAN. He's ill, and what about me? Am I not ill? When it's work, he's ill; but to merry-make or pull my hair out, he's not too ill. Let him die like a hound! What do I care? NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. How can you say such wicked things? WOMAN. I know it's a sin; but I can't subdue my heart. I'm expecting another child, and I have to work for two. Other people have their harvest in already, and we have not mowed a quarter of our oats yet. I ought to finish binding the sheaves, but can't. I had to come and see what the children were about. NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. The oats shall be cut--I'll hire someone, and to bind the sheaves too. WOMAN. Oh, binding's nothing. I can do that myself, if it's only mown down quick. What d'you think, Nicholas Ivánovich, will he die? He is very ill! NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. I don't know. But he really is very ill. I think we must send him to the hospital. WOMAN. Oh God! [Begins to cry] Don't take him away, let him die here.[28] [To her husband, who utters something] What's the matter? [28] The woman, for all her roughness, is sorry to part from her husband. IVÁN ZYÁBREV. I want to go to the hospital. Here I'm treated worse than a dog. WOMAN. Well, I don't know. I've lost my head. Maláshka, get dinner ready. NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. What have you for dinner?