f he tells them he cannot grant
it, they probably do not accept a first refusal, but endeavour by means
of supplication to make him reconsider his decision. Stepping forward
a little, and bowing low, one of the group begins in a half-respectful,
half-familiar, caressing tone: "Little Father, Ivan Ivan'itch, be
gracious; you are our father, and we are your children"--and so on.
Ivan Ivan'itch good-naturedly listens, and again explains that he cannot
grant what they ask; but they have still hopes of gaining their point by
entreaty, and continue their supplications till at last his patience is
exhausted and he says to them in a paternal tone, "Now, enough! enough!
you are blockheads--blockheads all round! There's no use talking; it
can't be done." And with these words he enters the house, so as to
prevent all further discussion.

A regular part of the evening's occupation is the interview with the
steward. The work that has just been done, and the programme for the
morrow, are always discussed at great length; and much time is spent in
speculating as to the weather during the next few days. On this latter
point the calendar is always carefully consulted, and great confidence
is placed in its predictions, though past experience has often shown
that they are not to be implicitly trusted. The conversation drags on
till supper is announced, and immediately after that meal, which is an
abridged repetition of dinner, all retire for the night.

Thus pass the days and weeks and months in the house of Ivan Ivan'itch,
and rarely is there any deviation from the ordinary programme. The
climate necessitates, of course, some slight modifications. When it is
cold, the doors and windows have to be kept shut, and after heavy rains
those who do not like to wade in mud have to remain in the house
or garden. In the long winter evenings the family assembles in the
sitting-room, and all kill time as best they can. Ivan Ivan'itch smokes
and meditates or listens to the barrel-organ played by one of the
children. Maria Petrovna knits a stocking. The old aunt, who commonly
spends the winter with them, plays Patience, and sometimes draws from
the game conclusions as to the future. Her favourite predictions are
that a stranger will arrive, or that a marriage will take place, and she
can determine the sex of the stranger and the colour of the bridegroom's
hair; but beyond this her art does not go, and she cannot satisfy the
young ladies' curiosity as