the festival, but the peasants were ploughing all the time.
Michal Semenovich, the overseer, slept and slept, and it was no longer early when he came downstairs. The people of his household, his wife, and his widowed daughter (she had come for the festival) had tricked themselves out in their best; the day labourer had got the little wagon ready for them, they went to mass, they came back; the day labourer's wife put the samovar on the table, Michal Semenovich joined them, they drank tea together. Michal Semenovich drank his tea, lit his pipe, and sent for the starosta.
"Well," said he, "have you set the muzhiks on a-ploughing?"
"I have set them on, Michal Semenovich."
"What, did they all turn out?"
"They all turned out I set each man his task myself."
"To set a task is one thing, to make them do it is another. Will they plough, that's the question? Go and see, and tell them I am coming after dinner. Every couple of hooked ploughs must plough up an acre, and plough it up well, too. If I find a single plot unploughed, I shall not wear festival features, I can tell you."
"I hear."
And the starosta was about to depart when Michal Semenovich made him turn back. It seemed as if he wanted to say something and did not know how. He fumbled about and he fumbled about, and at last he spoke.
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