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Master and Man-Part1_LEO TOLSTOY (1828-1910)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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The cook's husband went into the house, which stood on an iron

foundation and was iron-roofed, and soon returned saying that



the little one was to be harnessed. By that time Nikita had

put the collar and brass-studded belly-band on Mukhorty and,



carrying a light, painted shaft-bow in one hand, was leading

the horse with the other up to two sledges that stood in the



shed.

'All right, let it be the little one!' he said, backing the



intelligent horse, which all the time kept pretending to bite

him, into the shafts, and with the aid of the cook's husband he



proceeded to harness. When everything was nearly ready and

only the reins had to be adjusted, Nikita sent the other man to



the shed for some straw and to the barn for a drugget.

'There, that's all right! Now, now, don't bristle up!' said



Nikita, pressing down into the sledge the freshly threshed oat

straw the cook's husband had brought. 'And now let's spread



the sacking like this, and the drugget over it. There, like

that it will be comfortable sitting,' he went on, suiting the



action to the words and tucking the drugget all round over the

straw to make a seat.



'Thank you, dear man. Things always go quicker with two

working at it!' he added. And gathering up the leather reins



fastened together by a brass ring, Nikita took the driver's

seat and started the impatient horse over the frozen manure



which lay in the yard, towards the gate.

'Uncle Nikita! I say, Uncle, Uncle!' a high-pitched voice



shouted, and a seven-year-old boy in a black sheepskin coat,

new white felt boots, and a warm cap, ran hurriedly out of the



house into the yard. 'Take me with you!' he cried, fastening

up his coat as he ran.



'All right, come along, darling!' said Nikita, and stopping the

sledge he picked up the master's pale thin little son, radiant



with joy, and drove out into the road.

It was past two o'clock and the day was windy, dull, and cold,



with more than twenty degrees Fahrenheit of frost. Half the

sky was hidden by a lowering dark cloud. In the yard it was



quiet, but in the street the wind was felt more keenly. The

snow swept down from a neighbouring shed and whirled about in



the corner near the bath-house.

Hardly had Nikita driven out of the yard and turned the horse's



head to the house, before Vasili Andreevich emerged from the

high porch in front of the house with a cigarette in his mouth



and wearing a cloth-covered sheep-skin coat tightly girdled low

at his waist, and stepped onto the hard-trodden snow which



squeaked under the leather soles of his felt boots, and

stopped. Taking a last whiff of his cigarette he threw it



down, stepped on it, and letting the smoke escape through his

moustache and looking askance at the horse that was coming up,



began to tuck in his sheepskin collar on both sides of his

ruddy face, clean-shaven except for the moustache, so that his



breath should not moisten the collar.

'See now! The young scamp is there already!' he exclaimed when



he saw his little son in the sledge. Vasili Andreevich was

excited by the vodka he had drunk with his visitors, and so he



was even more pleased than usual with everything that was his

and all that he did. The sight of his son, whom he always



thought of as his heir, now gave him great satisfaction. He

looked at him, screwing up his eyes and showing his long teeth.



His wife--pregnant, thin and pale, with her head and shoulders

wrapped in a shawl so that nothing of her face could be seen



but her eyes--stood behind him in the vestibule to see him off.

'Now really, you ought to take Nikita with you,' she said



timidly, stepping out from the doorway.

Vasili Andreevich did not answer. Her words evidently annoyed



him and he frowned angrily and spat.

'You have money on you,' she continued in the same plaintive



voice. 'What if the weather gets worse! Do take him, for

goodness' sake!'



'Why? Don't I know the road that I must needs take a guide?'

exclaimed Vasili Andreevich, uttering every word very



distinctly and compressing his lips unnaturally, as he usually

did when speaking to buyers and sellers.



'Really you ought to take him. I beg you in God's name!' his

wife repeated, wrapping her shawl more closely round her head.



'There, she sticks to it like a leech! . . . Where am I to

take him?'






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