"They have
poisoned people. When the peasants rise up, they'll overturn
absolutely everything! They need bare land, and they will lay it
bare, tear down everything." He spoke slowly, and it was evident
that his mind was on something else. The mother cautiously tapped
him on the shoulder.
"Pull yourself together, Andriusha."
"Wait a little, my dear mother, my own!" he begged softly and
kindly. "All this is so ugly--although I didn't mean to do any
harm. Wait!" And suddenly rousing himself, he said, striking
the table with his hand: "Yes, Pavel, the peasant will lay the
land bare for himself when he rises to his feet. He will burn
everything up, as if after a plague, so that all traces of his
wrongs will vanish in ashes."
"And then he will get in our way," Pavel observed softly.
"It's our business to prevent that. We are nearer to him; he trusts
us; he will follow us."
"Do you know, Rybin proposes that we should publish a newspaper
for the village?"
"We must do it, too. As soon as possible."
Pavel laughed and said:
"I feel bad I didn't argue with him."
"We'll have a chance to argue with him still," the Little Russian
rejoined. "You keep on playing your flute; whoever has gay feet,
if they haven't grown into the ground, will dance to your tune.
Pages:
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265