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'Who's that? I inquired of Yermolai. 'That? Nedopyuskin, Tihon Ivanitch. He lives at Tchertop-hanov's. 'What is he, a poor man? 'He's not rich; but, to be sure, Tchertop-hanov's not got a brass farthing either. 'Then why does he live with him? 'Oh, they made friends. One's never seen without the other.... It's a fact, indeed where the horse puts its hoof, there the crab sticks its claw.
Yermolai, who seemed such a careless and easy-going fellow, treated his wife with cruel harshness; in his own house he assumed a stern, and menacing manner; and his poor wife did everything she could to please him, trembled when he looked at her, and spent her last farthing to buy him vodka; and when he stretched himself majestically on the stove and fell into an heroic sleep, she obsequiously covered him with a sheepskin.
I fired my gun, and at the same instant, a few paces from me, I heard a shriek; the frightened face of a young girl peeped out for a second from behind the trees, and instantly disappeared. Yermolai ran up to me: 'Why are you shooting here? there is a landowner living here.
He pulled the hare into shape, hung it on to his saddle, and flung the paws among the dogs. 'I owe you a charge, my friend, by the rules of hunting, he said, addressing Yermolai. 'And you, dear sir, he added in the same jerky, abrupt voice, 'my thanks. He mounted his horse. 'Pe-ermit me to ask... I've forgotten your name and your father's. Again I told him my name.
If you say the word, I will fetch him. His brothers, I've heard say, are smart chaps...but still, he's their head. 'Why so? 'Because he's the eldest! Of course, the younger ones must obey! Here Yermolai, in reference to younger brothers as a class, expressed himself with a vigour quite unsuitable for print. 'I'll fetch him. He's a simple fellow. With him you can't fail to come to terms.
In the first place, taught by experience, I had no very great confidence in Yermolai: I had once sent him to the town for purchases; he had promised to get through all my commissions in one day, and was gone a whole week, drank up all the money, and came back on foot, though he had set off in my racing droshky.
He was followed by a tall peasant in a white shirt, blue breeches, and bast shoes, with white eyebrows and short-sighted eyes, a wedge-shaped red beard, a long swollen nose, and a gaping mouth. He certainly did look 'simple. 'Here, your honour, observed Yermolai, 'he has horses and he's willing.
One evening I went with the huntsman Yermolai 'stand-shooting. ... But perhaps all my readers may not know what 'stand-shooting' is. I will tell you. A quarter of an hour before sunset in spring-time you go out into the woods with your gun, but without your dog. You seek out a spot for yourself on the outskirts of the forest, take a look round, examine your caps, and glance at your companion.
He distinguished himself by untiring energy in the chase, and had a good scent; but if he chanced to overtake a slightly wounded hare, he devoured it with relish to the last bone, somewhere in the cool shade under the green bushes, at a respectful distance from Yermolai, who was abusing him in every known and unknown dialect.
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