Sanine

"Are you ready?" he called out to him through the open window.

Yourii, who had already donned cartridge-belt and game bag, and carried

his gun, came out, looking somewhat overweighted and ill at ease.

"I'm ready, I'm ready," he said.

Riasantzeff, who was lightly and comfortably clad, seemed somewhat

astonished at Yourii's accoutrements.

"You'll find those things too heavy," he said, smiling. "Take them all

off and put them here. You needn't wear them till we get there." He

helped Yourii to divest himself of his shooting-kit and placed them

underneath the seat. Then they drove away at a good pace. The day was

drawing to a close, but it was still warm and dusty. The droschky

swayed from side to side so that Yourii had to hold tightly to the

seat. Riasantzeff talked and laughed the whole time, and Yourii was

compelled to join in his merriment. When they got out into the fields

where the stiff meadow-grass lightly brushed against their feet it was

cooler, and there was no dust.

On reaching a broad level field Riasantzeff pulled up the sweating

horse and, placing his hand to his mouth, shouted, in a clear, ringing

voice, "Kousma--a ... Kousma--a--a!"

At the extreme end of the field, like silhouettes, a row of little men

could be descried who, at the sound of Riasantzeff's voice, looked

eagerly in his direction.

One of the men then came across the field, walking carefully between

the furrows. As he approached, Yourii saw that he was a burly, grey-

haired peasant with a long beard and sinewy arms.

He came up to them slowly, and said, with a smile, "You know how to

shout, Anatole Pavlovitch!"

"Good day, Kousma; how are you? Can I leave the horse with you?"

"Yes, certainly you can," said the peasant in a calm, friendly voice,

as he caught hold of the horse's bridle. "Come for a little shooting,

eh? And who is that?" he asked, with a kindly glance at Yourii.

"It is Nicolai Yegorovitch's son," replied Riasantzeff.

"Ah, yes! I see that he is just like Ludmilla Nicolaijevna! Yes, yes!"

Yourii was pleased to find that this genial old peasant knew his sister

and spoke of her in such a simple, friendly way.

"Now, then, let us go!" said Riasantzeff, in his cheery voice, as he

walked first, after getting his gun and game-bag.

"May you have luck!" cried Kousma, and then they could hear him coaxing

the horse as he led it away to his hut.