'Oh bother! are you going to gossip again, father?'
'Look here, gospodarz,' said the father, 'we have bought the squire's estate. Now we want this; hill, because we want to build a windmill….'
'Gracious!' exclaimed the son disagreeably, 'have you lost your senses, father? Listen! we want that land!'
'My land?' the peasant repeated in amazement, looking about him, 'my land?'
He hesitated for a moment, not knowing what to say. 'What right have you gentlemen to my land?'
'We have got money.'
'Money?…I!…Sell my land for money? We have been settled here from father to son; we were here at the time of the scourge of serfdom, and even then we used to call the land "ours". My father got it for his own by decree from the Emperor Alexander II; the Land Commission settled all that, and we have the proper documents with signatures attached. How can you say now that you want to buy my land?'
The younger man had turned away indifferently during Slimak's long speech and whistled, the older man shook his fist impatiently.
'But we want to buy it…pay for it…cash! Sixty roubles an acre.'
'And I wouldn't sell it for a hundred,' said Slimak.