Andreevich wished to talk.

'Well, did you tell your wife not to give the cooper any vodka?' he
began in the same loud tone, quite convinced that Nikita must feel
flattered to be talking with so clever and important a person as
himself, and he was so pleased with his jest that it did not enter his
head that the remark might be unpleasant to Nikita.

The wind again prevented Nikita's hearing his master's words.

Vasili Andreevich repeated the jest about the cooper in his loud, clear
voice.

'That's their business, Vasili Andreevich. I don't pry into their
affairs. As long as she doesn't ill-treat our boy--God be with them.'

'That's so,' said Vasili Andreevich. 'Well, and will you be buying a
horse in spring?' he went on, changing the subject.

'Yes, I can't avoid it,' answered Nikita, turning down his collar and
leaning back towards his master.

The conversation now became interesting to him and he did not wish to
lose a word.

'The lad's growing up. He must begin to plough for himself, but till now
we've always had to hire someone,' he said.

'Well, why not have the lean-cruppered one. I won't charge much for it,'
shouted Vasili Andreevich, feeling animated, and consequently starting
on his favourite occupation--that of horse-dealing--which absorbed all
his mental powers.

'Or you might let me have fifteen rubles and I'll buy one at the
horse-market,' said Nikita, who knew that the horse Vasili Andreevich
wanted to sell him would be dear at seven rubles, but that if he took it
from him it would be charged at twenty-five, and then he would be unable
to draw any money for half a year.

'It's a good horse. I think of your interest as of my own--according to
conscience. Brekhunov isn't a man to wrong anyone. Let the loss be mine.
I'm not like others. Honestly!' he shouted in the voice in which he
hypnotized his customers and dealers. 'It's a real good horse.'

'Quite so!' said Nikita with a sigh, and convinced that there was
nothing more to listen to, he again released his collar, which
immediately covered his ear and face.

They drove on in silence for about half an hour. The wind blew sharply
onto Nikita's side and arm where his sheepskin was torn.

He huddled up and breathed into the collar which covered his mouth, and
was not wholly cold.

'What do you think--shall we go through Karamyshevo or by the straight
road?' asked Vasili Andreevich.

The road through Karamyshevo was more frequented and was