tillage of their lands? 'Eremei Kariakin, Nikita Volokita and Anton
Volokita (son of the foregoing).' To judge from your surnames, you would
seem to have been born gadabouts [29]. 'Popov, household serf.' Probably
you are an educated man, good Popov, and go in for polite thieving, as
distinguished from the more vulgar cut-throat sort. In my mind's eye I
seem to see a Captain of Rural Police challenging you for being without
a passport; whereupon you stake your all upon a single throw. 'To whom
do you belong?' asks the Captain, probably adding to his question a
forcible expletive. 'To such and such a landowner,' stoutly you reply.
'And what are you doing here?' continues the Captain. 'I have
just received permission to go and earn my obrok,' is your fluent
explanation. 'Then where is your passport?' 'At Miestchanin [30]
Pimenov's.' 'Pimenov's? Then are you Pimenov himself?' 'Yes, I am
Pimenov himself.' 'He has given you his passport?' 'No, he has not given
me his passport.' 'Come, come!' shouts the Captain with another forcible
expletive. 'You are lying!' 'No, I am not,' is your dogged reply. 'It is
only that last night I could not return him his passport, because I came
home late; so I handed it to Antip Prochorov, the bell-ringer, for him
to take care of.' 'Bell-ringer, indeed! Then HE gave you a passport?'
'No; I did not receive a passport from him either.' 'What?'--and here
the Captain shouts another expletive--'How dare you keep on lying? Where
is YOUR OWN passport?' 'I had one all right,' you reply cunningly, 'but
must have dropped it somewhere on the road as I came along.' 'And what
about that soldier's coat?' asks the Captain with an impolite addition.
'Whence did you get it? And what of the priest's cashbox and copper
money?'' 'About them I know nothing,' you reply doggedly. 'Never at any
time have I committed a theft.' 'Then how is it that the coat was found
at your place?' 'I do not know. Probably some one else put it there.'
'You rascal, you rascal!' shouts the Captain, shaking his head, and
closing in upon you. 'Put the leg-irons upon him, and off with him to
prison!' 'With pleasure,' you reply as, taking a snuff-box from your
pocket, you offer a pinch to each of the two gendarmes who are manacling
you, while also inquiring how long they have been discharged from the
army, and in what wars they may have served. And in prison you remain
until your case comes on, when the justice orders you to be removed from