"Of course!" replies the Village Elder, shrugging his shoulders. "The taxes must be paid.... Take Abakoúmof now, for instance," said he, referring to the well-to-do peasant whose cow had been taken in payment of some Grain Reserve Fund. "His son is an isvóstchik: they have three horses. Why shouldn't he pay? He's always trying to get out of it."
"Well, suppose it so in his case," say I; "but how about those who are really poor?" And I name the old man whose samovár they are taking.
"Yes; they really are poor, and have nothing to pay with. But just as if such things get considered up there!"
I name the woman whose sheep was taken. The Elder is sorry for her too, but, as if excusing himself, explains that he must obey orders.
I inquire how long he has been an Elder, and what pay he gets.
"How much do I get?" he says, replying not to the question I ask, but to the question in my mind, which he guesses namely, why he takes part in such proceedings. "Well, I do want to resign! We get thirty roubles a month, but are obliged to do things that are wrong."
"Well, and will they really confiscate the samovárs and sheep and fowls?" I ask.
"Why, of course! We are bound to take them, and the District Government will arrange for their sale."
"And will the things be sold?"
"The folk will manage to pay up somehow."