The smith could forge him a gun. He had made one for the keeper; and this, when let off in the woods, was plainly heard in the village! “A first-rate workman!—But then he wants five roubles to make one!” He fell into a brown study. “Where am I to get them from? Winter is at hand: I must buy me a sheepskin coat. My boots, too, will not last beyond Yule-tide—Well, there are due me ten roubles, and two bits of clothing—trousers and a shirt. A sheepskin coat, short though it may be, will come to five roubles. Boots, three more. I must get a cap; and a rouble will have to go besides, for his Reverence to say a mass for my departed. So then nothing at all will be left!”—He was disappointed, fumbled in his pockets for a little tobacco that might be left, and so came upon the ready money he had previously forgotten. “Ah! here I have some cash!”—He no longer cared to sleep. From the tavern there came a far-off sound of music, an echo of shouts, softened by the distance. “There they are—dancing, and drinking vodka, and smoking too!” he sighed; and, lying down again on his stomach, he glanced over at the hobbled horses, that had gathered together and were nibbling at each other’s necks. Then he decided that in the evening he too would go to the tavern, purchase some tobacco, and just have a look at the dancers. From time to time, he would glance at his money, then at the sun, which was that day going down with exceeding sluggishness, as if it also needed its Sunday rest. His longing for the tavern was now so great that he could hardly bear it; but he refrained from going just then, and only turned over on his side, and groaned within himself. Antek and Hanka had come out from behind the barn, and were walking along the dividing pathway between the fields. Antek went foremost; Hanka, leading her little boy by the hand, came after. At times, as they walked on slowly, they spoke a few words. Then Antek would bend down, and stroke the blades that were sprouting forth. “It is growing up.—As thick as the bristles of a brush,” he muttered, casting his eyes over those acres, sown by himself and for himself: the wages of work done for his father. “Thick, yes: but Father’s corn is better still. It grows up like a forest,” Hanka said, casting a look on the neighbouring cornfields. “The land might be better manured, had we but three cows.” “And a horse of our own....” “Aye, then we might raise some fowls or things for market. As it is, what can we do? Father counts every husk of chaff, and thinks a lot of a potato-peeling.” “And taunts us with every morsel he gives!” They could speak no more. Their hearts were too full of gall and bitterness, and the angry gnawing pain of revolt. After a time: “Eight acres or thereabouts would be our share, if ...” he observed, absently. “No more. There’s Yuzka, and the smith’s wife, and Gregory and ourselves,” she counted. “If we paid money down to the smith, and kept the hut, and sixteen acres with it?”