to make
raids on the orchards and kitchen-gardens. Ivan Abramitch was called
"You Know," as he usually talked a very great deal and frequently
made use of that expression.

In the yard near a barn Zhmuhin's sons were standing, one a young
man of nineteen, the other a younger lad, both barefoot and bareheaded.
Just at the moment when the trap drove into the yard the younger
one flung high up a hen which, cackling, described an arc in the
air; the elder shot at it with a gun and the hen fell dead on the
earth.

"Those are my boys learning to shoot birds flying," said Zhmuhin.

In the entry the travellers were met by a little thin woman with a
pale face, still young and beautiful; from her dress she might have
been taken for a servant.

"And this, allow me to introduce her," said Zhmuhin, "is the mother
of my young cubs. Come, Lyubov Osipovna," he said, addressing her,
"you must be spry, mother, and get something for our guest. Let us
have supper. Look sharp!"

The house consisted of two parts: in one was the parlour and beside
it old Zhmuhin's bedroom, both stuffy rooms with low ceilings and
multitudes of flies and wasps, and in the other was the kitchen in
which the cooking and washing was done and the labourers had their
meals; here geese and turkey-hens were sitting on their eggs under
the benches, and here were the beds of Lyubov Osipovna and her two
sons. The furniture in the parlour was unpainted and evidently
roughly made by a carpenter; guns, game-bags, and whips were hanging
on the walls, and all this old rubbish was covered with the rust
of years and looked grey with dust. There was not one picture; in
the corner was a dingy board which had at one time been an ikon.

A young Little Russian woman laid the table and handed ham, then
beetroot soup. The visitor refused vodka and ate only bread and
cucumbers.

"How about ham?" asked Zhmuhin.

"Thank you, I don't eat it," answered the visitor, "I don't eat
meat at all."

"Why is that?"

"I am a vegetarian. Killing animals is against my principles."

Zhmuhin thought a minute and then said slowly with a sigh:

"Yes . . . to be sure. . . . I saw a man who did not eat meat in
town, too. It's a new religion they've got now. Well, it's good.
We can't go on always shooting and slaughtering, you know; we must
give it up some day and leave even the beasts in peace. It's a sin
to kill, it's a sin, there is no denying it. Sometimes one kills a
hare and wounds