was burnt. Levin was sure that it was because he had neglected the precautions a hundred times suggested. He grew angry, and reprimanded the intendant.
But there was one fortunate and important event: Pava, his best, his most beautiful cow, which he had bought at the cattle-show, had calved.
"Kuzma, give me my tulup. And you," said he to the intendant, "get a lantern. I will go and see her."
The stable for the cattle was immediately behind the house. Crossing the courtyard, where the snow was heaped under the lilac bushes, he stepped up to the stable. As he opened the frosty door, he was met by the warm fumes of manure, and the cows, astonished at the unwonted light of the lantern, stirred on their fresh straw. The light fell on the broad black back of his piebald Holland cow. Berkut, the bull, with a ring in his nose, tried to get to his feet, but changed his mind, and only snorted as they passed by.
The beautiful Pava, huge as a hippopotamus, was lying near her calf, snuffing at it, and protecting it against those who would come too close.
Levin entered the stall, examined Pava, and lifted the calf, spotted with red and white, on its long, awkward legs. Pava began to low with anxiety, but was reassured when the calf was restored to her, and began to lick it with her rough tongue. The calf hid its nose under its mother's side, and frisked its tail.
"Bring the light this way, Feodor, this way," said Levin, examining the calf. "Like its mother, but its color is like the sire's, very pretty! long hair and prettily spotted. Vasili Feodorovitch, is n't it a beauty?" he said, turning to his intendant, forgetting, in his joy over the new-born calf, the grief caused by the burning of his wheat.
"Why should it be homely? But Semyon the contractor was here the day after you left. It will be necessary to come to terms with him, Konstantin Dmitritch," replied the intendant. "I have already spoken to you about the machine."
This single phrase brought Levin back to all the de-
