Peter. If one weren't to goad you on a bit, one'd have no roof left over one's head before the year's out. Oh, what people!
Anísya. You go shoving a dozen jobs on to one's shoulders, and then do nothing but scold. It's easy to lie on the oven and give orders.
Peter (sighing). Oh, if 'twere not for this sickness that's got hold of me, I'd not keep him on another day.
Akoulína (off the scene). Gee up, gee, woo.
[A colt neighs, the stamping of horses' feet and the creaking of the gate are heard.
Peter. Bragging, that's what he's good at. I'd like to sack him, I would indeed.
Anísya (mimicking him). "Like to sack him." You buckle to yourself, and then talk.
Akoulína (enters). It's all I could do to drive 'em in. That piebald always will....
Peter. And where's Nikíta?
Akoulína. Where's Nikíta? Why, standing out there in the street.