“‘Barin, some of the people desire to see you. They are waiting outside.’
“‘To see me!’ asked my father, in surprise. ‘What do they want?’
“‘They refuse to tell me, barin. They say they must see you personally.’
“‘Oh! very well!’ cried my father, rising angrily and standing with his back to the stove. ‘If there is any grumbling or sign of disaffection, I’ll teach them a lesson. Let them enter.’
“Artem retired, and a few moments later the starosta came in, accompanied by about a dozen half-starved, shivering moujiks with white, haggard faces and ragged sheepskins.
“‘Well!’ exclaimed my father, scanning them with angry eye. ‘What does this mean, pray? What right have you to come here in a body?’
“‘Have pity, barin,’ implored the elder, bending himself almost double. ‘We have come to beg mercy of you, to cast ourselves upon your sympathy.’
“‘What for?’
“‘We are starving, our cattle are dying, our homes have been denuded of almost everything, and—and we cannot pay your rent, your High Nobility. We have come to beg you to allow us time.’