"Hey there, son, turn round. How ridiculous you look! What's that priest's cassock you're wearing? Do all the fellows in the Academy go around in that style?"
With such words did old Bulba greet his two sons who had been studying in the Kiev preparatory school, and had just returned home to their father.
His boys had only just dismounted from their horses. They were a pair of stalwart lads, who still wore a sheepishly distrustful look, like students just out of school. Their strong, healthy faces were covered with the first down, which, as yet, had never been touched by the razor. They were very much upset by such a reception on the part of their father, and stood stock-still, with their eyes fixed upon the earth.
"Stand still! Stand still! Let me have a good look at you," he continued, turning them round.