down from the stove and called the yard dog out of the hay, crying,
'Here, here, doggie'; and then beat it on its thin back with the poker,
or she would stand in the porch and 'snarl,' as Hor expressed it, at
everyone that passed. She stood in awe of her husband though, and would
return, at his command, to her place on the stove. It was specially
curious to hear Hor and Kalinitch dispute whenever Mr. Polutikin was
touched upon.

'There, Hor, do let him alone,' Kalinitch would say. 'But why doesn't
he order some boots for you?' Hor retorted. 'Eh? boots!... what do I
want with boots? I am a peasant.' 'Well, so am I a peasant, but look!'
And Hor lifted up his leg and showed Kalinitch a boot which looked as
if it had been cut out of a mammoth's hide. 'As if you were like one of
us!' replied Kalinitch. 'Well, at least he might pay for your bast
shoes; you go out hunting with him; you must use a pair a day.' 'He
does give me something for bast shoes.' 'Yes, he gave you two coppers
last year.'

Kalinitch turned away in vexation, but Hor went off into a chuckle,
during which his little eyes completely disappeared.

Kalinitch sang rather sweetly and played a little on the balalaeca. Hor
was never weary of listening to him: all at once he would let his head
drop on one side and begin to chime in, in a lugubrious voice. He was
particularly fond of the song, 'Ah, my fate, my fate!' Fedya never lost
an opportunity of making fun of his father, saying, 'What are you so
mournful about, old man?' But Hor leaned his cheek on his hand, covered
his eyes, and continued to mourn over his fate.... Yet at other times
there could not be a more active man; he was always busy over
something--mending the cart, patching up the fence, looking after the