Maryánka flourished her switch at him and glanced merrily at them both with her beautiful eyes.
Olénin felt still more light-hearted.
“Now then, come on, come on,” he said, throwing his gun on his shoulder and conscious of the girl’s eyes upon him.
“Gee up!” sounded Maryánka’s voice behind them, followed by the creak of the moving wagon.
As long as their road lay through the pastures at the back of the village Eróshka went on talking. He could not forget the cornet and kept on abusing him.
“Why are you so angry with him?” asked Olénin.
“He’s stingy. I don’t like it,” answered the old man. “He’ll leave it all behind when he dies! Then who’s he saving up for? He’s built two houses, and he’s got a second garden from his brother by a law-suit. And in the matter of papers what a dog he is! They come to him from other villages to fill up documents. As he writes it out, exactly so it happens. He gets it quite exact. But who is he saving for? He’s only got one boy and the girl; when she’s married who’ll be left?”
“Well then, he’s saving up for her dowry,” said Olénin.
“What dowry? The girl is sought after, she’s a fine girl. But he’s such a devil that he must yet marry her to a rich fellow. He wants to get a big price for her. There’s Luke, a Cossack, a neighbour and a nephew of mine, a fine lad. It’s he who killed the Chéchen—he has been wooing her for a long time, but he hasn’t let him have her. He’s given one excuse, and another, and a third. ‘The girl’s too young,’ he says. But I know what he is thinking. He wants to keep them bowing to him. He’s been acting shamefully about that girl. Still, they will get her for Lukáshka, because he is the best Cossack in the village, a brave, who has killed an abrek and will be rewarded with a cross.”
“But how about this? When I was walking up and down the yard last night, I saw my landlord’s daughter and some Cossack kissing,” said Olénin.