BIRYUK
'It's all the same—ruin anyway—you destroyer of souls, you brute; you've not come to ruin yet. . . . But wait a bit; you won't have long to boast of; they'll wring your neck; wait a bit!'
Biryuk clutched him by the shoulder. I rushed to help the peasant. . . .
'Don't touch him, master!' the forester shouted to me.
I should not have feared his threats, and already had my fist in the air; but to my intense amazement, with one pull he tugged the kerchief off the peasant's elbows, took him by the scruff of the neck, thrust his cap over his eyes, opened the door, and shoved him out.
'Go to the devil with your horse!' he shouted after him; 'but mind, next time. . . .'
He came back into the hut and began rummaging in the corner.
'Well, Biryuk,' I said at last, 'you've astonished me; I see you're a splendid fellow.'
'Oh, stop that, master,' he cut me short with an air of vexation; 'please don't speak of it. But I'd better see you on your way now,' he added; 'I suppose you won't wait for this little rain. . . .'
In the yard there was the rattle of the wheels of the peasant's cart.
'He's off, then!' he muttered; 'but next time!'
Half-an-hour later he parted from me at the edge of the wood.
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