not visible before, now gleaming
like steel in its bends, and the moving, ascending, peasants, and
the sharp wall of grass of the unmown part of the meadow, and the
hawks hovering over the stripped meadow--all was perfectly new.
Raising himself, Levin began considering how much had been cut
and how much more could still be done that day.

The work done was exceptionally much for forty-two men. They had
cut the whole of the big meadow, which had, in the years of serf
labor, taken thirty scythes two days to mow. Only the corners
remained to do, where the rows were short. But Levin felt a
longing to get as much mowing done that day as possible, and was
vexed with the sun sinking so quickly in the sky. He felt no
weariness; all he wanted was to get his work done more and more
quickly and as much done as possible.

"Could you cut Mashkin Upland too?--what do you think?" he said
to the old man.

"As God wills, the sun's not high. A little vodka for the lads?"

At the afternoon rest, when they were sitting down again, and
those who smoked had lighted their pipes, the old man told the
men that "Mashkin Upland's to be cut--there'll be some vodka."

"Why not cut it? Come on, Tit! We'll look sharp! We can eat at
night. Come on!" cried voices, and eating up their bread, the
mowers went back to work.

"Come, lads, keep it up!" said Tit, and ran on ahead almost at a
trot.

"Get along, get along!" said the old man, hurrying after him and
easily overtaking him, "I'll mow you down, look out!"

And young and old mowed away, as though they were racing with one
another. But however fast they worked, they did not spoil the
grass, and the rows were laid just as neatly and exactly. The
little piece left uncut in the corner was mown in five minutes.
The last of the mowers were just ending their rows while the
foremost snatched up their coats onto their shoulders, and
crossed the road towards Mashkin Upland.

The sun was already sinking into the trees when they went with
their jingling dippers into the wooded ravine of Mashkin Upland.
The grass was up to their waists in the middle of the hollow,
soft, tender, and feathery, spotted here and there among the
trees with wild heart's-ease.

After a brief consultation--whether to take the rows lengthwise
or diagonally--Prohor Yermilin, also a renowned mower, a huge,
black-haired peasant, went on ahead. He went up to the top,
turned back again and started mowing, and they a