Sketches from a Hunter's Album Read Online Free PDF

when the cart drove up to the porch. We went out to find a curly-haired, red-cheeked boy of about fifteen sitting in the driver’s seat and restraining with difficulty a frisky, piebald stallion. Around the cart there stood six or so young giants, all very similar to each other and to Fedya.
    â€˜They’re all Khor’s boys,’ Polutykin remarked.
    â€˜We’re the Khor lads,’ echoed Fedya, who had followed us out on to the porch, ‘and there aren’t all of us here – Potap’s in the forest and Sidor’s gone to the town with the old man. Now watch out, Vasya,’ he continued, turning to the young driver, ‘remember you’re driving the master! See you go quietly over the bumps or you’ll smash the carriage and upset the master’s stomach!’
    The remaining Khor brothers grinned broadly at Fedya’s witticism.
    â€˜Let Astronomer be seated!’ exclaimed Polutykin pompously.
    Fedya, not without a show of pleasure, lifted the uneasily smiling dog into the air and deposited it on the floor of the cart. Vasya gave rein to the horses and we set off.
    â€˜And that’s my office,’ Polutykin said suddenly, pointing to a tiny, low-walled house. ‘Would you like to see inside?’
    â€˜Certainly.’
    â€˜It’s not used now,’ he said, climbing down, ‘but it’s still worth looking at.’
    The office consisted of two empty rooms. The caretaker, a bent old man, ran in from the yard at the back.
    â€˜Good day, Minyaich,’ said Polutykin, ‘and have you any of that water?’
    The ancient caretaker made off and at once returned with a bottle and two glasses.
    â€˜You try it,’ Polutykin said to me. ‘It’s some of my good spring water.’
    We each drank a glassful, while the old man regaled us with low bows to the waist.
    â€˜Well, it’s time now, it seems, for us to be off,’ my new friend remarked. ‘In this office I got a good price from the merchant Alliluyev for ten acres of woodland I once sold him.’
    We took our seats again in the carriage and in half an hour were entering the forecourt of Polutykin’s mansion.
    â€˜Tell me, please,’ I asked him at dinner, ‘why is it that Khor lives apart from your other peasants?’
    â€˜He lives apart because he’s one of my clever ones. About fifteen years ago his hut burned down and he came to my late father and said: “If you please, Nikolay Kuzmich, allow me to settle on some of the marshland in your forest. I’ll pay you a good rent for it.” “And what do you want to settle in a marsh for?” “That’s my business, sir; all I ask, Nikolay Kuzmich, sir, is that you don’t use me for any kind of work, but name whatever rent you think is right.” “Fifty roubles a year!” “Thank you, sir.” “No falling down on the rent payments, mind you!” “Of course, sir, no falling down…” And so he settled in the marshland. And from that time he’s become known as Khor the Polecat.’
    â€˜I suppose he’s got rich?’ I asked.
    â€˜He’s got rich. He now pays me a hundred silver roubles a year in rent, and I’ll probably raise that a bit before long. Many times I’ve said to him: “Buy yourself off, Khor, buy your freedom!” But he, wily polecat that he is, always assures me he’s got nothing to do it with, no money, nothing. He’s a sly one!’
    On the next day, directly after morning tea, we set off on a hunting expedition. On our way through the village Polutykin ordered the driver to stop at a squat little hut and called out loudly:
    â€˜Kalinych!’
    â€˜At once, sir, at once!’ a voice cried from the yard. ‘I’m just doing up my shoe.’
    We went on at a walking pace and just beyond the village we were caught up by a man of about forty, of tall, thin build, with a small head