him, and when he came to the mowing-field he found the men had already mowed the first time across.
From the top of the slope the part of the meadow still in the shade, and already mowed, spread out before him, with its long windrows and the little black heaps of kaftans thrown down by the men when they went by the first time.
As he drew nearer he saw also the band of muzhiks, some in their kaftans, some in their shirt-sleeves, moving in a long line, and swinging their scythes in unison. He counted forty-two men of them. They were advancing slowly over the uneven bottom-land of the meadow, where there was an old dike. Many of them Levin knew. There was the old round-shouldered Yermil, in a very clean white shirt, wielding the scythe; there was the young small Vaska, who used to be Levin's coach-man; there was Sef, also, a little, thin old peasant,[1] who had taught him how to mow. He was cutting a wide swath without stooping, and handling his scythe as if he were playing with it.
Levin dismounted from his horse, tied her near the road, and went across to Sef, who immediately got a second scythe from a clump of bushes and handed it to him.
"All ready, barin; 't is like a razor, - cuts of itself," said Sef, with a smile, taking off his cap and handing him the scythe.
Levin took it and began to try it. The mowers, having finished their line, were returning one after the other on their track, covered with sweat, but gay and lively. They laughed timidly, and saluted the barin. All of them looked at him, but no one ventured to speak until at last a tall old man, with a wrinkled, beardless face, and dressed in a sheepskin jacket, thus addressed him: —
"Look here, barin, if you put your hand to the rope, you must not let go," said he; and Levin heard the sound of stifled laughter among the mowers.
- ↑ Muzhichok, diminutive of muzhik, as muzhik is diminutive of muzh, a man.
