ahead, and suddenly exclaimed: 'Aha! but our poor folk are here already . . . they keep it up, it seems.'
I craned my head to look from behind him, and saw on the floating platform, on the very seat of which he had been speaking, two persons sitting with their backs to us; they were placidly fishing.
'Who are they?' I asked.
'Neighbours,' Narkiz responded, with displeasure. 'They've nothing to eat at home, and so here they come to us.'
'Are they allowed to?'
'The old master allowed them. . . Nikolai Petrovitch maybe won't give them permission. . . The long one is a superannuated deacon—quite a silly creature; and as for the other, that's a little stouter—he's a brigadier.'
'A brigadier?' I repeated, wondering. This 'brigadier's' attire was almost worse than the deacon's.
'I assure you he's a brigadier. And he did have a fine property once. But now he has only a corner given him out of charity, and he lives . . . on what God sends him. But, by the way, what are we to do? They've taken the best place. . . We shall have to disturb our precious visitors.'
'No, Narkiz, please don't disturb them. We'll sit here a little aside; they won't interfere
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