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Sofron Yakovlitch has taken a dislike to me; for some reason he dislikes me God be his judge! 'Have pity, gracious lord, defend us! 'And it's not us only, the young peasant began.... Arkady Pavlitch flew into a rage at once. 'And who asked your opinion, hey? Till you're spoken to, hold your tongue.... What's the meaning of it?
Arkady Pavlitch frowned, bit his lip, and went up to the suppliants. They both prostrated themselves at his feet in silence. 'What do you want? What are you asking about? he inquired in a stern voice, a little through his nose. 'Well, what is it? Arkady Pavlitch said again; and turning at once to Sofron, 'Of what family? 'The Tobolyev family, the agent answered slowly.
'Well, brother Sofron, how are things going with you? he asked in a friendly voice. 'Ah, you, our father! cried Sofron; 'how should they go ill? how should things go ill, now that you, our father, our benefactor, graciously deign to lighten our poor village with your presence, to make us happy till the day of our death? Thank the Lord for thee, Arkady Pavlitch! thank the Lord for thee!
The valet spread out sheets for us, and arranged pillows; we lay down. Sofron retired after receiving his instructions for the next day.
Sofron had had an eye to the ornamental as well as the useful; he had planted all the ditches with willows, between the stacks he had made little paths to the threshing-floor and strewn them with fine sand; on the windmill he had constructed a weathercock of the shape of a bear with his jaws open and a red tongue sticking out; he had attached to the brick cattle-shed something of the nature of a Greek facade, and on it inscribed in white letters: 'Construt in the village Shipilovky 1 thousand eight Hunderd farthieth year.
'And now it would be as well to ride down to the copse, observed Mr. Pyenotchkin. Saddle-horses were led out to us at once; we went off to the copse, or, as they call it about us, the 'enclosure. In this 'enclosure' we found thick undergrowth and abundance of wild game, for which Arkady Pavlitch applauded Sofron and clapped him on the shoulder.
Sofou, or Sofron, is a fine walled city, southeast of Fez, situate upon the river Guizo; in a vast and well-watered plain near, are rich mines of fossil salt. Wazen, or Wazein, in the province of Azgar, and the region of the Gharb, is a small city without Walls, celebrated for being the residence of the High Priest, or Grand Marabout of the Empire.
Silence, I tell you, silence!... Why, upon my word, this is simply mutiny! You can go, I tell you. Arkady Pavlitch turned his back on them. 'Nothing but vexation, he muttered between his teeth, and strode with long steps homewards. Sofron followed him. The village constable opened his eyes wide, looking as if he were just about to take a tremendous leap into space.
I could have got no shooting now that day in any case, and so, raging inwardly, I submitted to my fate. 'And where's Sofron? Arkady Pavlitch asked him.
The bailiff first jumped nimbly off his horse, bowed to his master till he was bent double, and said: 'Good health to you, Arkady Pavlitch, sir! then raised his head, shook himself, and announced that Sofron had gone to Perov, but they had sent after him. 'Well, come along after us, said Arkady Pavlitch.
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