“Think it over at your leisure,” said the surprised Nekhludoff, again repeating his offer.

“There is nothing to think over; as we said, so it will be,” the toothless, gloomy old man said angrily.

“I will stay here all day to-morrow.  If you alter your decision, let me know.”

The peasants made no answer.

On their return to the office the clerk explained to Nekhludoff that it was not a want of good sense that prevented their acceptance of the offer; that when gathered in assembly they always acted in that stubborn manner.

Nekhludoff then asked him to summon for the following day several of the most intelligent peasants to whom he would explain his project at greater length.

Immediately after the departure of the smiling clerk, Nekhludoff heard angry women’s voices interrupted by the voice of the clerk.  He listened.

“I have no more strength.  You want the cross on my breast,” said an exasperated voice.

“She only ran in,” said another voice.  “Give her up, I say.  Why do you torture the beast, and keep the milk from the children?”

Nekhludoff walked around the house where he saw two disheveled women, one of whom was evidently pregnant, standing near the staircase.  On the stairs, with his hands in the pockets of his crash overcoat, stood the clerk.  Seeing their master, the women became silent and began to arrange their ’kerchiefs, which had fallen from their heads, while the clerk took his hands out of his pockets and began to smile.

The clerk explained that the peasants purposely permitted their calves, and even cows, to roam over the master’s meadows.  That two cows belonging to these women had been caught on the meadow and driven into an inclosure.  The clerk demanded from the women thirty copecks per cow, or two days’ work.

“Time and again I told them,” said the smiling clerk, looking around at Nekhludoff, as if calling him to witness, “to look out for cows when driving them to feed.”

“I just went to see to the child, and they walked away.”

“Don’t leave them when you undertake to look after them.”

“And who would feed my child?”

“If they had only grazed, at least, they would have no pains in their stomachs.  But they only walked in.”

“All the meadows are spoiled,” the clerk turned to Nekhludoff.  “If they are not made to pay there will be no hay left.”

“Don’t be sinning,” cried the pregnant woman.  “My cow was never caught.”

“But now that she was caught, pay for her, or work.”

“Well, then, I will work.  But return me the cow; don’t torture her,” she cried angrily.  “It is bad enough as it is; I get no rest, either day or night.  Mother-in-law is sick; my husband is drunk.  Single-handed I have to do all the work, and I have no strength.  May you choke yourself!” she shouted and began to weep.

Nekhludoff asked the clerk to release the cows and returned to the house, wondering why people do not see what is so plain.