I shall go across and see her."
"At the end of the village; the further side, the third from the end.
To the left there is a brick cottage, and her hut is beyond that.
But I'd better see you there," the foreman said with a graceful smile.
"No, thanks, I shall find it; and you be so good as to call a meeting of the peasants, and tell them that I want to speak to them about the land," said Nekhludoff, with the intention of coming to the same agreement with the peasants here as he had done in Kousminski, and, if possible, that same evening.
CHAPTER IV. THE PEASANTS' LOT.
When Nekhludoff came out of the gate he met the girl with the long earrings on the well-trodden path that lay across the pasture ground, overgrown with dock and plantain leaves. She had a long, brightly-coloured apron on, and was quickly swinging her left arm in front of herself as she stepped briskly with her fat, bare feet. With her right arm she was pressing a fowl to her stomach.
The fowl, with red comb shaking, seemed perfectly calm; he only rolled up his eyes and stretched out and drew in one black leg, clawing the girl's apron.
When the girl came nearer to "the master," she began moving more slowly, and her run changed into a walk. When she came up to him she stopped, and, after a backward jerk with her head, bowed to him; and only when he had passed did she recommence to run homeward with the cock.
As he went down towards the well, he met an old woman, who had a coarse dirty blouse on, carrying two pails full of water, that hung on a yoke across her bent back.
The old woman carefully put down the pails and bowed, with the same backward jerk of her head.
After passing the well Nekhludoff entered the village.
It was a bright, hot day, and oppressive, though only ten o'clock. At intervals the sun was hidden by the gathering clouds.
An unpleasant, sharp smell of manure filled the air in the street. It came from carts going up the hillside, but chiefly from the disturbed manure heaps in the yards of the huts, by the open gates of which Nekhludoff had to pass.
The peasants, barefooted, their shirts and trousers soiled with manure, turned to look at the tall, stout gentleman with the glossy silk ribbon on his grey hat who was walking up the village street, touching the ground every other step with a shiny, bright-knobbed walking-stick.
The peasants returning from the fields at a trot and jotting in their empty carts, took off their hats, and, in their surprise, followed with their eyes the extraordinary man who was walking up their street. The women came out of the gates or stood in the porches of their huts, pointing him out to each other and gazing at him as he passed.
When Nekhludoff was passing the fourth gate, he was stopped by a cart that was coming out, its wheels creaking, loaded high with manure, which was pressed down, and was covered with a mat to sit on.
A six-year-old boy, excited by the prospect of a drive, followed the cart.
A young peasant, with shoes plaited out of bark on his feet, led the horse out of the yard.
A long-legged colt jumped out of the gate; but, seeing Nekhludoff, pressed close to the cart, and scraping its legs against the wheels, jumped forward, past its excited, gently-neighing mother, as she was dragging the heavy load through the gateway.
The next horse was led out by a barefooted old man, with protruding shoulder-blades, in a dirty shirt and striped trousers.
When the horses got out on to the hard road, strewn over with bits of dry, grey manure, the old man returned to the gate, and bowed to Nekhludoff.
"You are our ladies' nephew, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am their nephew."
"You've kindly come to look us up, eh?" said the garrulous old man.
"Yes, I have.
Well, how are you getting on?"
"How do we get on?
We get on very badly," the old man drawled, as if it gave him pleasure.
"Why so badly?" Nekhludoff asked, stepping inside the gate.
"What is our life but the very worst life?" said the old man, following Nekhludoff into that part of the yard which was roofed over.
Nekhludoff stopped under the roof.
"I have got 12 of them there," continued the old man, pointing to two women on the remainder of the manure heap, who stood perspiring with forks in their hands, the kerchiefs tumbling off their heads, with their skirts tucked up, showing the calves of their dirty, bare legs. "Not a month passes but I have to buy six poods [a pood is 36 English pounds] of corn, and where's the money to come from?"
"Have you not got enough corn of your own?"
"My own?" repeated the old man, with a smile of contempt; "why I have only got land for three, and last year we had not enough to last till Christmas."
"What do you do then?"
"What do we do? Why, I hire out as a labourer; and then I borrowed some money from your honour.
We spent it all before Lent, and the tax is not paid yet."
"And how much is the tax?"
"Why, it's 17 roubles for my household.
Oh, Lord, such a life! One hardly knows one's self how one manages to live it."
"May I go into your hut?" asked Nekhludoff, stepping across the yard over the yellow-brown layers of manure that had been raked up by the forks, and were giving off a strong smell.
"Why not? Come in," said the old man, and stepping quickly with his bare feet over the manure, the liquid oozing between his toes, he passed Nekhludoff and opened the door of the hut.
The women arranged the kerchiefs on their heads and let down their skirts, and stood looking with surprise at the clean gentleman with gold studs to his sleeves who was entering their house.
Two little girls, with nothing on but coarse chemises, rushed out of the hut.
Nekhludoff took off his hat, and, stooping to get through the low door, entered, through a passage into the dirty, narrow hut, that smelt of sour food, and where much space was taken up by two weaving looms.
In the hut an old woman was standing by the stove, with the sleeves rolled up over her thin, sinewy brown arms.
"Here is our master come to see us," said the old man.
"I'm sure he's very welcome," said the old woman, kindly.
"I would like to see how you live."