allowance, and driven him off the estate; since then his refuge had been
a corner in a peasant's hut. Misha had been too short a time in
possession of his estate to have left behind him a particularly
favourable memory; still the old servant could not resist running to the
churchyard as soon as he heard of his young master's being there. He
found Misha sitting on the ground between the tombstones, asked for his
hand to kiss, as in old times, and even shed tears on seeing the rags
which clothed the limbs of his once pampered young charge.

Misha gazed long and silently at the old man. 'Timofay!' he said at
last; Timofay started.

'What do you desire?'

'Have you a spade?'

'I can get one.... But what do you want with a spade, Mihailo
Andreitch, sir?'

'I want to dig myself a grave, Timofay, and to lie here for time
everlasting between my father and mother. There's only this spot left me
in the world. Get a spade!'

'Yes, sir,' said Timofay; he went and got it. And Misha began at once
digging in the ground, while Timofay stood by, his chin propped in his
hand, repeating: 'It's all that's left for you and me, master!'

Misha dug and dug, from time to time observing: 'Life's not worth
living, is it, Timofay?'