"Look, good people! The old man has gone mad! he has lost his wits completely!" screamed their thin, pale old mother, who was standing on the threshold and had not yet managed to embrace her darling boys. "The children have come home, we have not seen them for over a year; and now the Lord only knows what he has taken into his head—he's pummelling them!"
"Yes, he's a glorious fighter," said Bulba, pausing; "by God! that was a good one!" he continued, somewhat as though he were excusing himself; "yes, although he has never tried his hand at it before. He'll make a good kazák! Now, welcome, my lad, let's greet each other;" and father and son began to exchange kisses. "Good, little son! see that you thrash every one else as you have thrashed me; don't you knuckle under to any one. All the same, your outfit is ridiculous—What's this rope hanging here?—And you, you clumsy lout, why are you standing there with your arms dangling?" said he, turning to the younger lad. "How about you, you son of a dog—why don't you also give me a licking?"
"There's another of his crazy ideas!" said the mother, who had managed, in the meantime, to embrace the younger boy. "Who ever heard of such a thing as a man's own children beating him? That will do for the present: the child is young, he
