him in the leg, and he cries like a child. . . .
So it must hurt him!"

"Of course it hurts him; animals suffer just like human beings."

"That's true," Zhmuhin assented. "I understand that very well," he
went on, musing, "only there is this one thing I don't understand:
suppose, you know, everyone gave up eating meat, what would become
of the domestic animals--fowls and geese, for instance?"

"Fowls and geese would live in freedom like wild birds."

"Now I understand. To be sure, crows and jackdaws get on all right
without us. Yes. . . . Fowls and geese and hares and sheep, all
will live in freedom, rejoicing, you know, and praising God; and
they will not fear us, peace and concord will come. Only there is
one thing, you know, I can't understand," Zhmuhin went on, glancing
at the ham. "How will it be with the pigs? What is to be done with
them?"

"They will be like all the rest--that is, they will live in
freedom."

"Ah! Yes. But allow me to say, if they were not slaughtered they
would multiply, you know, and then good-bye to the kitchen-gardens
and the meadows. Why, a pig, if you let it free and don't look after
it, will ruin everything in a day. A pig is a pig, and it is not
for nothing it is called a pig. . . ."

They finished supper. Zhmuhin got up from the table and for a long
while walked up and down the room, talking and talking. . . . He
was fond of talking of something important or serious and was fond
of meditating, and in his old age he had a longing to reach some
haven, to be reassured, that he might not be so frightened of dying.
He had a longing for meekness, spiritual calm, and confidence in
himself, such as this guest of theirs had, who had satisfied his
hunger on cucumbers and bread, and believed that doing so made him
more perfect; he was sitting on a chest, plump and healthy, keeping
silent and patiently enduring his boredom, and in the dusk when one
glanced at him from the entry he looked like a big round stone which
one could not move from its place. If a man has something to lay
hold of in life he is all right.

Zhmuhin went through the entry to the porch, and then he could be
heard sighing and saying reflectively to himself: "Yes. . . . To
be sure. . . . By now it was dark, and here and there stars could
be seen in the sky. They had not yet lighted up indoors. Someone
came into the parlour as noiselessly as a shadow and stood still
near the door. It was Lyubov Osipovna, Zhmuhin's wife.