'Please sir,' he said to him, hardly articulately, 'send... for the priest... tell... the Lord... has punished me... arms, legs, all smashed... to-day's... Sunday... and I... I... see... didn't let the lads off... work.'
He ceased, out of breath.
'And my money... for my wife... after deducting.... Onesim here knows... whom I... what I owe.'
'We've sent for the doctor, Maksim,' said my neighbour; 'perhaps you may not die yet.'
He tried to open his eyes, and with an effort raised the lids.
'No, I'm dying. Here... here it is coming... here it.... Forgive me, lads, if in any way....'
'God will forgive you, Maksim Andreitch,' said the peasants thickly with one voice, and they took off their caps; 'do you forgive us!'
He suddenly shook his head despairingly, his breast heaved with a painful effort, and he fell back again.
'We can't let him lie here and die, though,' cried Ardalion Mihalitch; 'lads, give us the mat from the cart, and carry him to the hospital.'
Two men ran to the cart.