“But Granny wants to go and take you with her.” “Granny! Where? Why?” she asked her aunt in her caressing, coaxing way. “Don’t tease me,” said Tatiana Markovna. “Marfinka, you don’t want to leave home?” asked Boris. “Not for anything in the world. How could such a thing be?” “What would Veroshka say about it?” “She would never be separated from the old house.” “She loves the old house?” “Yes. She is only happy when she is here. If she were taken away from it she would die. We both should.” “That matter is settled then, little sister. You two, Veroshka and you, will accept the gift from me, won’t you?” “I will if Veroshka agrees.” “Agreed, dear sister. You are not so proud as Granny,” he said, as he kissed her forehead. “What is agreed?” suddenly grumbled Tatiana Markovna. “You have accepted? Who told you you might accept? Grandmother will never permit you to live at a stranger’s expense. Be so kind, Boris Pavlovich, as to take over books, accounts, inventories and sales. I am not your paid servant.” She pushed papers and books towards him. “Granny!” “Granny! My name is Tatiana Markovna Berezhkov.” She stood up, and opened the door into the servants’ room. “Send Savili here.” A quarter of an hour later, a peasant of almost forty-five years of age opened the door with a casual greeting. He was strongly-built, big boned, and was robust, without being fat. His eyes with their overhanging brows and wide heavy lids, wasted no idle glances; he neither spoke an unnecessary word, nor made a superfluous gesture. “The proprietor is here,” said Tatiana Markovna, indicating Raisky. “You must now make your reports to him. He intends to administer the estate himself.” Savili looked askance at Raisky. “At your orders,” he said stiffly, slowly raising his eyes. “What orders are you pleased to give?” he asked, lowering his eyes again. Raisky thought for a moment before he replied: “Do you know an official who could draw up a document for the transfer of the estate?” “Gavril Ivanov Meshetshnikov draws up the papers we require,” he said. “Send for him.” As Savili bowed, and slowly retired, Raisky followed him with his eyes. “An anxious rascal,” was his comment. “How should he be other than anxious,” said his aunt, “when he is tied to a wife like Marina Antipovna? Do you remember Antip? Well, she is his daughter. But for his marriage he is a treasure. He does my important business, sells the corn, and collects the money. He is honest and practical, but fate deals her blows where she will, and every man must bear his own burden. But what idea have you in your head now? Are you beside yourself?” “Something must be done. I am going away, and you will not administer the estate, so some arrangement must be made.” “And is that your reason for going? I thought you were now going to take over the management of your estate. You have done enough gadding about. Why not marry and settle here?”