42
A MORNING OF A LANDED PROPRIETOR
"The manorial," mumbled Davýdka, timidly and questioningly raising his eyes.
"And where does the manorial grain come from? Think of it: who has ploughed the field? Who has harrowed it? Who has sowed it in, and garnered it? The peasants? Is it not so? So you see, if I am to give the manorial grain to the peasants, I ought to give more to those who have worked more for it; but you have worked less, and they complain of you at the manor; you have worked less, and you ask more. Why should I give to you, and not to others? If all were lying on their sides and sleeping, as you are doing, we should all have starved long ago. We must work, my friend, but this is bad,—do you hear, Davýd?"
"I hear, sir," he slowly muttered through his teeth.
