ANÍSYA. Daddy Akím, you'd better listen to us women; we can tell you a thing or two. AKÍM. And God, how about God? Isn't she a human being, the lass? A what d'you call it,--also a human being I mean, before God. And how do you look at it? MATRYÓNA. Eh!... started off again?... PETER. Wait a bit, Daddy Akím. One can't believe all these girls say, either. The lad's alive, and not far away; send for him, and find out straight from him if it's true. He won't wish to lose his soul. Go and call the fellow, [Anísya rises] and tell him his father wants him. [Exit Anísya]. MATRYÓNA. That's right, dear friend; you've cleared the way clean, as with water. Yes, let the lad speak for himself. Nowadays, you know, they'll not let you force a son to marry; one must first of all ask the lad. He'll never consent to marry her and disgrace himself, not for all the world. To my thinking, it's best he should go on living with you and serving you as his master. And we need not take him home for the summer either; we can hire a help. If you would only give us ten roubles now, we'll let him stay on. PETER. All in good time. First let us settle one thing before we start another. AKÍM. You see, Peter Ignátitch, I speak. 'Cos why? you know how it happens. We try to fix things up as seems best for ourselves, you know; and as to God, we what d'you call it, we forget Him. We think it's best so, turn it our own way, and lo! we've got into a fix, you know. We think it will be best, I mean; and lo! it turns out much worse--without God, I mean. PETER. Of course one must not forget God. AKÍM. It turns out worse! But when it's the right way--God's way--it what d'you call it, it gives one joy; seems pleasant, I mean. So I reckon, you see, get him, the lad, I mean, get him to marry her, to keep him from sin, I mean, and let him what d'you call it at home, as it's lawful, I mean, while I go and get the job in town. The work is of the right sort--it's payin', I mean. And in God's sight it's what d'you call it--it's best, I mean. Ain't she an orphan? Here, for example, a year ago some fellows went and took timber from the steward,--thought they'd do the steward, you know. Yes, they did the steward, but they couldn't what d'you call it--do God, I mean. Well, and so ... Enter Nikíta and Nan. NIKÍTA. You called me? [Sits down and takes out his tobacco-pouch]. PETER [in a low, reproachful voice] What are you thinking about--have you no manners? Your father is going to speak to you, and you sit down and fool about with tobacco. Come, get up! Nikíta rises, leans carelessly with his elbow on the table, and smiles. AKÍM. It seems there's a complaint, you know, about you, Nikíta--a complaint, I mean, a complaint. NIKÍTA. Who's been complaining? AKÍM. Complaining? It's a maid, an orphan maid, complaining, I mean. It's her, you know--a complaint against you, from Marína, I mean.