the men’s rough coats.  The peasants looked at “the master,” waiting for him to speak, and he was so abashed that he could not speak.  This confused silence was broken by the sedate, self-assured German steward, who considered himself a good judge of the Russian peasant, and who spoke Russian remarkably well.  This strong, over-fed man, and Nekhludoff himself, presented a striking contrast to the peasants, with their thin, wrinkled faces and the shoulder blades protruding beneath their coarse coats.

“Here’s the Prince wanting to do you a favor, and to let the land to you; only you are not worthy of it,” said the steward.

“How are we not worthy of it, Vasili Karlovitch?  Don’t we work for you?  We were well satisfied with the deceased lady—­God have mercy on her soul—­and the young Prince will not desert us now.  Our thanks to him,” said a redhaired, talkative peasant.

“Yes, that’s why I have called you together.  I should like to let you have all the land, if you wish it.”

The peasants said nothing, as if they did not understand or did not believe it.

“Let’s see.  Let us have the land?  What do you mean?” asked a middle-aged man.

“To let it to you, that you might have the use of it, at a low rent.”

“A very agreeable thing,” said an old man.

“If only the pay is such as we can afford,” said another.

“There’s no reason why we should not rent the land.”

“We are accustomed to live by tilling the ground.”

“And it’s quieter for you, too, that way.  You’ll have to do nothing but receive the rent.  Only think of all the sin and worry now!” several voices were heard saying.

“The sin is all on your side,” the German remarked.  “If only you did your work, and were orderly.”

“That’s impossible for the likes of us,” said a sharp-nosed old man.  “You say, ‘Why do you let the horse get into the corn?’ just as if I let it in.  Why, I was swinging my scythe, or something of the kind, the livelong day, till the day seemed as long as a year, and so I fell asleep while watching the herd of horses at night, and it got into your oats, and now you’re skinning me.”

“And you should keep order.”

“It’s easy for you to talk about order, but it’s more than our strength will bear,” answered a tall, dark, hairy middleaged man.

“Didn’t I tell you to put up a fence?”

“You give us the wood to make it of,” said a short, plain-looking peasant.  “I was going to put up a fence last year, and you put me to feed vermin in prison for three months.  That was the end of that fence.”

“What is it he is saying?” asked Nekhludoff, turning to the steward.

“Der ersto Dieb im Dorfe,” [The greatest thief in the village] answered the steward in German.  “He is caught stealing wood from the forest every year.”  Then turning to the peasant, he added, “You must learn to respect other people’s property.”