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'Lo-ok out! lo-ok out! the exhausted horseman articulated with effort, in a sort of stutter: 'lo-ok out, friend! Yermolai shot... the wounded hare rolled head over heels on the smooth dry grass, leaped into the air, and squealed piteously in the teeth of a worrying dog. The hounds crowded about her.
One could not call him a cheerful man, though one almost always found him in an even frame of mind; he was looked on generally as an eccentric. Yermolai liked a little chat with a good companion, especially over a glass, but he would not stop long; he would get up and go. 'But where the devil are you going?
To the main road it will be sixteen miles not more.... There's one little place... a bit awkward; but naught amiss else. 'What sort of little place is it that's awkward? 'Well, we'll have to cross the river by the ford. 'But are you thinking of going to Tula yourself? inquired Yermolai. 'Yes. 'Oh! commented my faithful servant with a shake of his head.
And, secondly, I had an acquaintance in Tula, a horsedealer; I might buy a horse off him to take the place of the disabled shaft-horse. 'The thing's decided! I thought; 'I'll drive over myself; I can sleep just as well on the road luckily, the coach is comfortable. 'I've brought him! cried Yermolai, rushing into the hut a quarter of an hour later.
We fell to haggling; Filofey at first was stubborn; then he began to come down, but slowly. 'Ugh, you Filofey! you're a regular Filofey! Yermolai jeered at last and he went out, slamming the door angrily.
Its leaves are small, its powerful limbs spread wide in all directions; there is perpetual shade under them. Once, as I was wandering about the fields after partridges with Yermolai, I saw some way off a deserted garden, and turned into it. I had hardly crossed its borders when a snipe rose up out of a bush with a clatter.
'You ought to make me a present of a sucking pig. The miller's wife was silent for a while, then she sighed. 'Who is it you're with? she asked. 'A gentleman from Kostomarovo. Yermolai threw a few pine twigs on the fire; they all caught fire at once, and a thick white smoke came puffing into his face. 'Why didn't your husband let us into the cottage? 'He's afraid. 'Afraid! the fat old tub!
The miller's wife sat down again on the tub. 'Well, Arina Timofyevna, are you still ill? 'Yes. 'What is it? 'My cough troubles me at night. 'The gentleman's asleep, it seems, observed Yermolai after a short silence. 'Don't go to a doctor, Arina; it will be worse if you do. 'Well, I am not going. 'But come and pay me a visit. Arina hung down her head dejectedly.
Yermolai, not being very refined, and quite devoid of 'subtlety, began to address him with coarse familiarity. The fine irony with which Vladimir used 'Sir' in his reply was worth seeing. 'Why is your face tied up? 'I inquired; 'have you toothache? 'No, he answered; 'it was a most disastrous consequence of carelessness.
The cursed punt rocked feebly under our feet... At the instant of our ducking the water seemed terribly cold to us, but we soon got hardened to it, when the first shock had passed off. I looked round me; the reeds rose up in a circle ten paces from us; in the distance above their tops the bank could be seen. 'It looks bad, I thought. 'What are we to do? I asked Yermolai.
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