a horse?"

"A horse? Yes, there's one, but he's very old!"

"Then a horse, a good horse! A cow . . . sheep . . . poultry . . . eh?"

"Why do you say that? If only! . . . Ah! Lord, how I might enjoy life."

"Yes, brother, life under those circumstances would not be bad . . .
I, too, I know a little about such things. I also have a nest
belonging to me. My father was one of the richest peasants of his
village."

Tchelkache rowed slowly. The boat danced upon the waves which beat
against its sides; it scarcely advanced over the somber sea, now
disporting itself harder than ever. The two men dreamed, rocked upon
the water and gazing vaguely around them. Tchelkache had spoken to
Gavrilo of his village with the purpose of quieting him and helping him
to recover from his emotion. He at first spoke with a sceptical smile
hidden under his moustache, but as he talked and recalled the joys of
country life, in regard to which he himself had long since been
disabused, and that he had forgotten until this moment, he became
carried away, and instead of talking to the lad, he began unconsciously
to harangue:

"The essential part of the life of a peasant, brother, is liberty. You
must be your own master. You own your house: it is not worth much, but
it belongs to you. You possess a piece of ground, a little corner,
perhaps, but it is yours. Your chickens, eggs, apples are yours. You
are a king upon the earth. Then you must be methodical. . . As soon