your divisions, and everything would go to the Mir[1] again."
"Look ye, Mathew's people!" said the starosta. "As things were, this was a real proper home, but if you fall to dividing there will be nothing for anyone."
"And that is how, I suppose, you would have it," said the old man, turning to his son.
The son made no reply, and an awkward silence ensued. This silence was broken by Pete, who by this time had put the horses to, and had come into the room again a few minutes before, and stood listening with a smile upon his face the whole time.
"There's a fable something like this in Paulson," said he, "A parent gives to his sons a bath-broom to break up. While it is all bound up together they cannot break it up; but taking it twig by twig they break it easily. That's how it is," said he, with a grin all over his mouth — "All is ready!" added he.
"If it be ready we will go," said Vasily Andreich. "And as to this division matter, old Daddy, don't you give in! You have been building the place up all your life — and you are master here. Hand it over to the Mir people. They'll put it all to rights."
"They're such a set of sharpers," whined the old man, "that there's no doing anything at all with them. Plague take 'em!"
Nikita, meanwhile, having drunk five cups of tea, stood on one side without turning round, hoping that a sixth would be offered him. But there was no more water in the samovar; the hostess did not pour him
36
- ↑ The peasant community.
