“Little father!” he cried, “you must be ill! Wait a minute, poor fellow, I’ll bring you some water to drink!”
Without waiting for an answer, he ran out into the yard, took off his greasy cap, filled it from the water-tub, and brought it to the barine.
“There, little father, drink!”
But the barine sat blinking his eyes; he was ashamed before the priest and the barinya. The barinya flew at the peasant; she was almost ready to tear his beard out.
“How dare you bring the barine water in your filthy cap?” she cried.
He emptied the water out of the window and asked the barine—
“What do you want with me?”
The barine had recovered himself; he leaned back in the armchair, put his hands in his pockets, and said—
“What are you mutinying for, my friend?”
“Mutiny? It’s a sin for the priest to rob the people, and to encourage him is a sin too; that’s all!”