Sanine

Yourii watched everything with great interest as he greedily ate large,

luscious slices of a ripe melon which Kousma cut off with his pocket-

knife that had a yellow bone handle.

"Eat, Yourii Nicolaijevitch; this melon's good," he said. "I know your

little sister, Ludmilla Nicolaijevna, and your father, too. Eat, and

enjoy it."

Everything pleased Yourii; the smell of the peasants, an odour as of

newly-baked bread and sheepskins; the bright blaze of the fire; the

gigantic pumpkin upon which he sat; and the glimpse of Kousma's face

when he looked downwards, for when the old man raised his head it was

hidden in the gloom and only his eyes gleamed. Overhead there was

darkness now, which made the lighted place seem pleasant and

comfortable. Looking upwards, Yourii could at first see nothing, and

then suddenly the calm, spacious heaven appeared and the distant stars.

He felt, however, somewhat embarrassed, not knowing what to say to

these peasants. The others, Kousma, Sanine, and Riasantzeff, chatted

frankly and simply to them about this or that, never troubling to

choose some special theme for talk.

"Well, how's the land?" he asked, when there was a short pause in the

conversation, though he felt that the question sounded forced and out

of place.

Kousma looked up, and answered: "We must wait, just wait a while, and see." Then he began talking about

the melon-fields and other personal matters, Yourii feeling only more

and more embarrassed, although he rather liked listening to it all.

Footsteps were heard approaching. A little red dog with a curly white

tail appeared in the light, sniffing at Yourii and Riasantzeff, and

rubbing itself against Sanine's knees, who patted its rough coat. It

was followed by a little, old man with a sparse beard and small bright

eyes. He carried a rusty single-barrelled gun.

"It is grandfather, our guardian," said Kousma. The old man sat down on

the ground, deposited his weapon, and looked hard at Yourii and

Riasantzeff.

"Been out shooting; yes, yes!" he mumbled, showing his shrivelled,

discoloured gums. "He! He! Kousma, it's time to boil the potatoes! He!

He!"

Riasantzeff picked up the old fellow's flint-lock, and laughingly

showed it to Yourii. It was a rusty old barrel-loader, very heavy, with

wire wound round it.

"I say," said he, "what sort of a gun do you call this? Aren't you

afraid to shoot with it?"

"He! He! I nearly shot myself with it once! Stepan Schapka, he told me

that one could shoot without ... caps? He! He! ... without caps! He

said that if there were any sulphur left in the gun one could fire

without a cap. So I put the loaded rifle on my knee like this, and

fired it off at full cock with my finger, like this, see? Then bang! it

went off! Nearly killed myself! He! He! Loaded the rifle, and bang!!

Nearly killed myself!"