“It’s evident the three-men families must be the first to draw lots,” began different voices.
“We must first see what the proprietress will say. Egór Miháylovitch was saying that they wanted to send a domestic serf,” put in a voice.
This remark stopped the dispute for a while, but soon it flared up anew, and again came down to personalities.
Ignát, whom Resoún had accused of being picked up drunk by the roadside, began to make out that Resoún had stolen a saw from some passing carpenter, and that, when drunk, he had nearly beaten his wife to death.
Resoún replied that he beat his wife, drunk or sober, and still it was not enough; and this set everybody laughing. But about the saw he became suddenly indignant, stepped closer to Ignát and asked:
“Who stole? …”
“You did,” replied the sturdy Ignát, drawing still closer.
“Who stole? … Was it not yourself?” shouted Resoún.
“No, it was you,” said Ignát.
From the saw they went on to a stolen horse, a bag of oats, some strip of kitchen-garden, a dead body; and the two peasants said such terrible things to one another, that if a one-hundredth part of them had been true they would at the very least have legally deserved exile to Siberia.
In the meantime old Doútlof had chosen another way of defending himself. He did not like his son’s shouting, and tried to stop him, saying: “It’s a sin. … Leave off, I tell you!”