e to keep it up..."

"Really! what an idea! But tell me, how do the peasants look at
it? I suppose they laugh in their sleeves at their master's
being such a queer fish?"

"No, I don't think so; but it's so delightful, and at the same
time such hard work, that one has no time to think about it."

"But how will you do about dining with them? To send you a
bottle of Lafitte and roast turkey out there would be a little
awkward."

"No, I'll simply come home at the time of their noonday rest."

Next morning Konstantin Levin got up earlier than usual, but he
was detained giving directions on the farm, and when he reached
the mowing grass the mowers were already at their second row.

From the uplands he could get a view of the shaded cut part of
the meadow below, with its grayish ridges of cut grass, and the
black heaps of coats, taken off by the mowers at the place from
which they had started cutting.

Gradually, as he rode towards the meadow, the peasants came into
sight, some in coats, some in their shirts mowing, one behind
another in a long string, swinging their scythes differently. He
counted forty-two of them.

They were mowing slowly over the uneven, low-lying parts of the
meadow, where there had been an old dam. Levin recognized some
of his own men. Here was old Yermil in a very long white smock,
bending forward to swing a scythe; there was a young fellow,
Vaska, who had been a coachman of Levin's, taking every row with
a wide sweep. Here, too, was Tit, Levin's preceptor in the art
of mowing, a thin little peasant. He was in front of all, and
cut his wide row without bending, as though playing with the
scythe.

Levin got off his mare, and fastening her up by the roadside went
to meet Tit, who took a second scythe out of a bush and gave it
to him.

"It's ready, sir; it's like a razor, cuts of itself," said Tit,
taking off his cap with a smile and giving him the scythe.

Levin took the scythe, and began trying it. As they finished
their rows, the mowers, hot and good-humored, came out into the
road one after another, and, laughing a little, greeted the
master. They all stared at him, but no one made any remark, till
a tall old man, with a wrinkled, beardless face, wearing a short
sheepskin jacket, came out into the road and accosted him.

"Look'ee now, master, once take hold of the rope there's no
letting it go!" he said, and Levin heard smothered laughter among
the mowers.

"I'll try not