"But I ask you why, sir?" demanded the judge.
"Why? I suppose because the land is exhausted, if I may say so."
"Ahem! Nonsense, no such thing! All this talk about exhausted land is useless; it's nothing but a fancy of the statisticians."
On hearing this remark Kireelka sighed deeply, and crushed his hat down on his head.
"You tell me now, my good fellow, how does your land yield?" said the judge.
"Well, that depends. When the land is healthy it yields—well, as much as you can want."
"Come, now, don't try to get out of it! But give a straight answer. Does your land give good crops?"
"If—-that is—then"—
"Don't lie!"
"If good hands work it, why, then, it is all right" "Ah-ha! Do you hear that? Good hands! There it is! No hands to work the land! And why? What do we see? Drunkenness and slackness, idleness, sloth. There is no authority over the peasants. If they happen to have a bad crop one year, well, then, the Zemstvo comes at once to their aid, saying, 'Here is seed for you; sow your land, my friend. Here is bread; eat it, my good friend.' Now I tell you, this is all wrong! Why did the land yield good harvests up till 1861? Because when the crops were not good the peasant was brought before his master, who asked him, 'How did you sow? How did you plough?' and so on. The master then gave him some seed, and if the crops were then not good the peasant answered for it with a scarred back. His crops after that were sure to be good. Whereas, now he is protected by the Zemstvo, and has lost his capacity for work. It's all because there is no master over him to teach him to use his senses!"