First Girl. It's nearly over! We've come just to have a look.
Marína. Would you call my old man for me? Simon, from Zoúevo; but surely you know him?
First Girl. To be sure we do; he's a relative of the bridegroom's, I think?
Marína. Of course; he's my old man's nephew, the bridegroom is.
Second Girl. Why don't you go yourself? Fancy not going to a wedding!
Marína. I have no mind for it, and no time either. It's time for us to be going home. We didn't mean to come to the wedding. We were taking oats to town. We only stopped to feed the horse, and they made my old man go in.
First Girl. Where did you put up then? At Fyódoritch's?
Marína. Yes. Well then, I'll stay here and you go and call him, my dear—my old man. Call him, my pet, and say "Your missis, Marína, says you must go now!" His mates are harnessing.
First Girl. Well, all right—if you won't go in yourself.
[The GIRLS go away towards the house along a footpath. Sounds of songs and tambourine.