“As you see—­I am digging a grave for myself.”

“Why are you doing that?”

“Because I do not wish to live any longer.”

The speculator fairly flung apart his hands in surprise.—­“You do not wish to live?”

Misha cast a menacing glance at the speculator:—­“Does that surprise you?  Are not you the cause of it all?...  Is it not you?...  Is it not thou?...[15] Is it not thou, Judas, who hast robbed me, by taking advantage of my youth?  Dost not thou skin the peasants?  Is it not thou who hast deprived this decrepit old man of his daily bread?  Is it not thou?...  O Lord!  Everywhere there is injustice, and oppression, and villainy....  So down with everything,—­and with me also!  I don’t wish to live—­I don’t wish to live any longer in Russia!”—­And the spade made swifter progress than ever in Misha’s hands.

“The devil knows the meaning of this!” thought the speculator:  “he actually is burying himself.”—­“Mikhail Andreitch,”—­he began afresh, “listen; I really am guilty toward you; people did not represent you properly to me.”

Misha went on digging.

“But why this recklessness?”

Misha went on digging—­and flung the dirt on the speculator, as much as to say:  “Take that, earth-devourer!”

“Really, you have no cause for this.  Will not you come to my house to eat and rest?”

Misha raised his head a little.  “Now you’re talking!  And will there be anything to drink?”

The speculator was delighted.—­“Good gracious!...  I should think so!”

“And dost thou invite Timofei also?”

“But why ... well, I invite him also.”

Misha reflected.—­“Only look out ... for thou didst turn me out of doors....  Don’t think thou art going to get off with one bottle!”

“Do not worry ... there will be as much as you wish of everything.”

Misha flung aside his spade....  “Well, Timosha,” he said, addressing his old man-nurse, “let us honour the host....  Come along!”

“I obey,” replied the old man.

And all three wended their way toward the house.

The speculator knew with whom he had to deal.  Misha made him promise as a preliminary, it is true, that he would “allow all privileges” to the peasants;—­but an hour later that same Misha, together with Timofei, both drunk, danced a gallopade through those rooms where the pious shade of Andrei Nikolaitch seemed still to be hovering; and an hour later still, Misha, so sound asleep that he could not be waked (liquor was his great weakness), was placed in a peasant-cart, together with his kazak cap and his dagger, and sent off to the town, five-and-twenty versts distant,—­and there was found under a fence....  Well, and Timofei, who still kept his feet and merely hiccoughed, was “pitched out neck and crop,” as a matter of course.  The master had made a failure of his attempt.  So they might as well let the servant pay the penalty!