father and for the Armenian, even for the girl herself, and I had a
feeling as though we all four had lost something important and
essential to life which we should never find again. My grandfa-
ther, too, grew melancholy; he talked no more about manure or
about oats, but sat silent, looking pensively at Masha.
After tea my grandfather lay down for a nap while I went
out of the house into the porch. The house, like all the houses in
the Armenian village stood in the full sun; there was not a tree,
not an awning, no shade. The Armenian's great courtyard, over-
grown with goosefoot and wild mallows, was lively and full of
gaiety in spite of the great heat. Threshing was going on behind
one of the low hurdles which intersected the big yard here and
there. Round a post stuck into the middle of the threshing-floor
ran a dozen horses harnessed side by side, so that they formed
one long radius. A Little Russian in a long waistcoat and full
trousers was walking beside them, cracking a whip and shouting
in a tone that sounded as though he were jeering at the horses
and showing off his power over them.
"A-a-a, you stupid brutes! . . . A-a-a, plague take you! Are
you frightened?"
The horses, sorrel, white, and piebald, not understanding
why they were made to run round in one place and to crush the
wheat straw, ran unwillingly as though with effort, swinging
their tails with an offended air. The wind raised up perfect
clouds of golden chaff from under their hoofs and carried it
away far beyond the hurdle. Near the tall fresh stacks peasant
women were swarming with rakes, and carts were moving, and
beyond the stacks in another yard another dozen similar horses
were running round a post, and a similar Little Russian was cra-
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