"Stop!" cried Kuzmitchov. "Pull up! Woa!"

Deniska threw his whole body backwards and pulled up the horses.

"Come here!" Kuzmitchov shouted to the shepherd. "Call off the dogs,
curse them!"

The old shepherd, tattered and barefoot, wearing a fur cap, with a
dirty sack round his loins and a long crook in his hand--a regular
figure from the Old Testament--called off the dogs, and taking
off his cap, went up to the chaise. Another similar Old Testament
figure was standing motionless at the other end of the flock, staring
without interest at the travellers.

"Whose sheep are these?" asked Kuzmitchov.

"Varlamov's," the old man answered in a loud voice.

"Varlamov's," repeated the shepherd standing at the other end of
the flock.

"Did Varlamov come this way yesterday or not?"

"He did not; his clerk came. . . ."

"Drive on!"

The chaise rolled on and the shepherds, with their angry dogs, were
left behind. Yegorushka gazed listlessly at the lilac distance in
front, and it began to seem as though the windmill, waving its