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 still other places the men were plowing. The carts were thronging up toward the field. Levin counted them, and was satisfied with the work which was going on.

His thoughts were diverted, by the sight of the meadows, to the question of haymaking. He always experienced something which went to his very heart at the hay-harvesting. When they reached the meadow Levin stopped his horse. The morning dew was still damp on the thick grass, and Sergyeï Ivanovitch begged his brother, in order that he might not wet his feet, to drive him in his cabriolet as far as a clump of laburnums near which perch were to be caught. Though Levin disliked to trample down his grass, he drove over through the field. The tall grass clung round the wheels and the horse's legs, and scattered its seed on the damp spokes and naves.

Sergyei sat down under the laburnums, and cast his line, but Levin drove the horse aside, fastened him, and then went off through the vast green sea of the meadow unstirred by a breath of wind. The silky grass with its ripe seeds was almost waist-high in the places that had been overflowed.

As Konstantin Levin crossed the meadow diagonally, he met on the road an old man with one of his eyes swollen, and carrying a swarming-basket full of bees.

"Well? Have you caught them, Fomitch?" he asked.

"Caught them indeed, Konstantin Mitritch! If only I could keep my own! This is the second time this swarm has gone off, .... but, thanks to the boys! they galloped after 'em! .... They're plowing your fields. They unhitched the horse and dashed off after 'em!" ....

"Well, what do you say, Fomitch, should we begin mowing or wait?"

"Just as you say! According to our notions we should wait till St. Peter's Day. But you always mow earlier. Well, just as God will have it—the grass is in fine codition. There'll be plenty of room for the cattle."

"And what do you think of the weather?"