“Nothing to speak of—sometimes.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Well, yes, it does.”
“Ech, what a life!” The peasant heaved a sigh from the bottom of his heart.
“Goodbye, Matvey.”
“Goodbye. You are a nice chap, that you are.”
The boys went on.
“That was a nice peasant,” Kolya observed to Smurov. “I like talking to the peasants, and am always glad to do them justice.”
“Why did you tell a lie, pretending we are thrashed?” asked Smurov.
“I had to say that to please him.”
“How do you mean?”
“You know, Smurov, I don’t like being asked the same thing twice. I like people to understand at the first word. Some things can’t be explained. According to a peasant’s notions, schoolboys are whipped, and must be whipped. What would a schoolboy be if he were not whipped? And if I were to tell him we are not, he’d be disappointed. But you don’t understand that. One has to know how to talk to the peasants.”
“Only don’t tease them, please, or you’ll get into another scrape as you did about that goose.”
“So you’re afraid?”