Page:The Novels of Ivan Turgenev (volume VIII).djvu/197

 forests; I am alone at night in the fields, in the thickets; there the curlews call and the hares squeak and the wild ducks lift up their voices. I note them at evening; at morning I give ear to them; at daybreak I cast my net over the bushes. There are nightingales that sing so pitifully sweet yea, pitifully.' 'And do you sell them?' 'I give them to good people.' 'And what are you doing now?' 'What am I doing?' 'Yes, how are you employed?' The old man was silent for a little. 'I am not employed at all. I am a poor workman. But I can read and write.' 'You can read?' 'Yes, I can read and write. I learnt, by the help of God and good people.' 'Have you a family?' 'No, not a family.' 'How so? Are they dead, then?' 'No, but I have never been lucky in life. But all that is in God's hands; we are all in God's hands; and a man should be righteous—that is all! Upright before God, that is it.' 'And you have no kindred?' 'Yes well' The old man was confused. 'Tell me, please,' I began: 'I heard my coachman ask you why you did not cure Martin? You cure disease?'