And again, slowly, slowly, the shouting increased, and somehow the question of the strip of kitchen-garden and some kind of sacks stolen from the mistress’s yard came up again. Egór Miháylovitch had been managing the estate for the last twenty years, and he was a clever and experienced man. He stood and listened for about a quarter of an hour, then he ordered everybody to be quiet and the three younger Doútlofs to draw lots, to see which of the three was to go.
They prepared the lots, which were shaken up in a hat, and Hrapkóf took one out. It was Elijah’s. All became silent.
“Is it mine? Let me see!” said Elijah in a faltering voice.
All remained silent. Egór Miháylovitch gave orders that everybody should bring the recruiting money—a tax of seven kopecks from every household—next day, and saying that all was finished, dismissed the Meeting. The crowd moved away, the men covered their heads, and as they turned the corner their voices and the sound of their footsteps mingled into a hum. The steward stood on the porch, watching the departing crowd, and when the young Doútlofs had passed him, he beckoned the old man, who had stopped of his own accord, and they went into the office.
“I am sorry for you, old man,” said Egór Miháylovitch, sitting down in an armchair in front of the table. “Your turn has come. Won’t you buy a recruit to take your nephew’s place?”
The old man, without speaking, gave Egór Miháylovitch a significant look.
“He can’t escape,” said Egór Miháylovitch, in answer to that look.
“We’d be glad enough to buy a substitute, but have not the means, Egór Miháylovitch. Two horses went to the knacker’s this summer, and then there was my nephew’s wedding. … Evidently it’s our fate …