“Ay, for youth and strength,” he muttered as he gripped the plow. “And I have it!”
That evening Big Ivan of the Bridge spoke to his wife, Anna, a little woman, who had a sweet face and a wealth of fair hair.
“Wife, we are going away from here,” he said.
“Where are we going, Ivan?” she asked.
“Where do you think, Anna?” he said, looking down at her as she stood by his side.
“To Bobruisk,” she murmured.
“No.”
“Farther?”
“Ay, a long way farther.”
Fear sprang into her soft eyes. Bobruisk was eighty-nine versts away, yet Ivan said they were going farther.