“There’s one other thing I wished to speak to you about,” said Nekhliudof. “Why don’t you haul out your manure?”
“What manure, sir, 139 your excellency? There isn’t any to haul out. What cattle have I got? One mare and colt; and last autumn I sold my heifer to the porter—that’s all the cattle I’ve got.”
“I know you haven’t much, but why did you sell your heifer?” asked the bárin in amazement.
“What have I got to feed her on?”
“Didn’t you have some straw for feeding the cow? The others did.”
“The others have their fields manured, but my land’s all clay. I can’t do anything with it.”