Admiring the young cattle which the year had brought, for they were uncommonly beautiful,—the oldest already as large as a peasants' cow, and Pava's daughter, three months old, as big as a yearling,—Levin ordered the trough to be brought out for them, and their hay to be given them behind gratings.[1] He found, however, that these gratings, which had been made in the autumn, but were not used during the winter, were out of repair. He sent for the carpenter, who was supposed to be busy repairing the threshing-machine; but it seemed that the carpenter was not there. He was repairing the harrows, which should have been repaired during Lent. This made Levin very indignant. He was indignant at this everlasting repetition of such slovenliness, against which he had so many years struggled with all his might. The gratings, as he soon learned, not having been in use during the winter, had been carried to the stable, where, as they were of light construction, and meant only for calves, they had been broken.
Moreover, it appeared that nothing had been done to the harrows and other agricultural implements, which should have been inspected and put in order during the winter months, and for this purpose especially he had hired three carpenters. The harrows were needed immediately for work in the fields. Levin summoned the overseer,[2] then he himself went in search of him. The overseer, as radiant as everything else was that day, came from the threshing-floor dressed in a lined lambskin coat.[3] He was twisting a straw between his fingers.
"Why is n't the carpenter at work on the threshing-machine?"
"Oh, yes; that is what I meant to tell you last evening: the harrows had to be repaired! We've got to plow."
"Yes; but what have you been doing this winter?"
"Yes; but why do you hire such a carpenter?"
