A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES
with his teeth; 'me and my old woman have nothing to complain of, seemingly.'
'And do they all live with you?'
'Yes; they choose to, themselves, and so they live here.'
'And are they all married?'
'Here's one not married, the scamp!' he answered, pointing to Fedya, who was leaning as before against the door. 'Vaska, he's still too young; he can wait.'
'And why should I get married?' retorted Fedya; 'I'm very well off as I am. What do I want a wife for? To squabble with, eh?'
'Now then, you . . . ah, I know you! you wear a silver ring. . . . You'd always be after the girls up at the manor house. . . . "Have done, do, for shame!"' the old man went on, mimicking the servant girls. 'Ah, I know you, you white-handed rascal!'
'But what's the good of a peasant woman?'
'A peasant woman—is a labourer,' said Hor seriously; 'she is the peasant's servant.'
'And what do I want with a labourer?'
'I dare say; you'd like to play with the fire and let others burn their fingers: we know the sort of chap you are.'
'Well, marry me, then. Well, why don't you answer?'
'There, that's enough, that's enough, giddy pate! You see we're disturbing the gentleman. I'll marry you, depend on it. . . . And you, your
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