some honey-comb. We had a draught of spring water after the warm
transparent honey, and then dropped asleep to the sound of the
monotonous humming of the bees and the rustling chatter of the leaves.
A slight gust of wind awakened me.... I opened my eyes and saw
Kalinitch: he was sitting on the threshold of the half-opened door,
carving a spoon with his knife. I gazed a long time admiring his face,
as sweet and clear as an evening sky. Mr. Polutikin too woke up. We did
not get up at once. After our long walk and our deep sleep it was
pleasant to lie without moving in the hay; we felt weary and languid in
body, our faces were in a slight glow of warmth, our eyes were closed
in delicious laziness. At last we got up, and set off on our wanderings
again till evening. At supper I began again to talk of Hor and
Kalinitch. 'Kalinitch is a good peasant,' Mr. Polutikin told me; 'he is
a willing and useful peasant; he can't farm his land properly; I am
always taking him away from it. He goes out hunting every day with
me.... You can judge for yourself how his farming must fare.'

I agreed with him, and we went to bed.

The next day Mr. Polutikin was obliged to go to town about some
business with his neighbour Pitchukoff. This neighbour Pitchukoff had
ploughed over some land of Polutikin's, and had flogged a peasant woman
of his on this same piece of land. I went out hunting alone, and before
evening I turned into Hor's house. On the threshold of the cottage I
was met by an old man--bald, short, broad-shouldered, and stout--Hor
himself. I looked with curiosity at the man. The cut of his face
recalled Socrates; there was the same high, knobby forehead, the same
little eyes, the same snub nose. We went into the cottage together. The
same Fedya brought me some milk and black bread. Hor sat down on a
bench, and, quietly stroking his curly beard, entered into conversation