vexatiously obstinate silence.
“Why have you asked me for wood when you have enough to last you a whole month here, and you haven’t had anything to do? What?”
Davidka still remained silent, and did not move.
“Well, answer me.”
Davidka muttered something, and blinked his white eyelashes.
“You must go to work, brother. What will become of you if you don’t work? Now you have no grain, and what’s the reason of it? Because your land is badly ploughed, and not harrowed, and no seed put in at the right time—all from laziness. You asked me for grain: well, let us suppose that I gave it to you, so as to keep you from starving to death, still it is not becoming to do so. Whose grain do I give you? whose do you think? Answer me—whose grain do I give you?” demanded Nekhliudof obstinately.
“The Lord’s,” muttered Davidka, raising his eyes timidly and questioningly.
“But where did the Lord’s grain come from? Think for yourself, who ploughed for it? who harrowed? who planted it? who harvested it? The peasants, hey? Just look here: if the Lord’s grain is given to the peasants, then those peasants who work most will get most; but you work less than anybody. You are complained about on all sides. You work less than all the others, and yet you ask for more of the Lord’s grain than all the rest. Why should it be given to you, and not to the others? Now, if all, like you, lay on their backs, it would not be long before everybody in the world died of starvation. Brother, you’ve got to labor. This is disgraceful. Do you hear, David?”
“I hear you,” said the other slowly through his teeth.