THE PEASANT PROPRIETOR OVSYANIKOV
back in the coach with him, and when Milovidka died, he buried her in the garden with music at the burial—yes, a funeral for a dog—and put a stone with an inscription on it over the dog.'
'Then Alexey Grigoryevitch did not oppress anyone,' I observed.
'Yes, it is always like that; those who can only just keep themselves afloat are the ones to drag others under.'
'And what sort of a man was this Baush?' I asked after a short silence.
'Why, how comes it you have heard about Milovidka, and not about Baush? He was your grandfather's chief huntsman and whipper-in. Your grandfather was as fond of him as of Milovidka. He was a desperate fellow, and whatever order your grandfather gave him, he would carry it out in a minute—he'd have run on to a sword at his bidding. . . . And when he hallooed . . . it was something like a tally-ho in the forest. And then he would suddenly turn nasty, get off his horse, and lie down on the ground. . . . and directly the dogs ceased to hear his voice, it was all over! They would give up the hottest scent, and wouldn't go on for anything. Ay, ay, your grandfather did get angry! "Damn me, if I don't hang the scoundrel! I'll turn him inside out, the antichrist! I'll stuff his heels down his gullet, the cut-throat!" And it ended by his going up to find out what he wanted; why he wouldn't halloo to the hounds? Usually, on such
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