"I want to dig a grave for myself here, Timoféi; and lie down here forever between my parents. For this is the only spot which is left to me in the world. Fetch the spade!"
"I obey," said Timoféi; and went off and brought it.
And Mísha immediately began to dig up the earth, while Timoféi stood by with his chin propped on his hand, repeating: "That's the only thing left for thee and me, master!"
And Mísha dug and dug, inquiring from time to time: "Life isn't worth living, is it, Timoféi?"
"It is not, dear little father."
The hole had already grown fairly deep. People saw Mísha's work and ran to report about it to the speculator-owner. At first the speculator flew into a rage, and wanted to send for the police. "What hypocrisy!" he said. But afterward, reflecting, probably, that it would be inconvenient to have a row with that lunatic, and that a scandal might be the result, he betook himself in person to the churchyard, and approaching the toiling Mísha, he made a polite obeisance to him. The latter continued to dig, as though he had not noticed his successor.
"Mikhaíl Andréitch," began the speculator, "permit me to inquire what you are doing there?"
"As you see—I am digging a grave for myself."
"Why are you doing that?"
"Because I do not wish to live any longer."