"We’ll get some more. I know, of course," Levin added laughing, "you always want to do with as little and as poor quality as possible; but this year I’m not going to let you have things your own way. I’ll see to everything myself."
"Why, I don’t think you take much rest as it is. It cheers us up to work under the master’s eye..."
"So they’re sowing clover behind the Birch Dale? I’ll go and have a look at them," he said, getting on to the little bay cob, Kolpik, who was led up by the coachman.
"You can’t get across the streams, Konstantin Dmitrievitch," the coachman shouted.
"All right, I’ll go by the forest."
And Levin rode through the slush of the farmyard to the gate and out into the open country, his good little horse, after his long inactivity, stepping out gallantly, snorting ove
