" Rybin grew infuriated. "That's
the way you speak to the people, is it?" he cried. "Don't expect
pardon, you devils. My wrong will be avenged, if not by me, then by
another, if not on you, then on your children. Remember! The greed
in your breasts has harrowed the people with iron claws. You have
sowed malice; don't expect mercy!"
The wrath in Rybin seethed and bubbled; his voice shook with sounds
that frightened the mother.
"And what had I said to the priest?" he continued in a lighter tone.
"After the village assembly he sits with the peasants in the street,
and tells them something. 'The people are a flock,' says he, 'and
they always need a shepherd.' And I joke. 'If,' I say, 'they make
the fox the chief in the forest, there'll be lots of feathers but no
birds.' He looks at me sidewise and speaks about how the people
ought to be patient and pray more to God to give them the power to
be patient. And I say that the people pray, but evidently God has
no time, because he doesn't listen to them. The priest begins to
cavil with me as to what prayers I pray. I tell him I use one
prayer, like all the people, 'O Lord, teach the masters to carry
bricks, eat stones, and spit wood.
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