Selected Stories of Anton Chekov - By Anton Chekhov Page 0,117

of smoke and the crowns of the trees stood out in the air. Nightingales were singing, and the calling of quails came from the fields.

“Anyhow, it’s time for bed,” said Tanya. “And it’s cold.” She took him under the arm. “Thank you for coming, Andryusha. We have uninteresting acquaintances, and few of them at that. All we have is orchard, orchard, orchard—and nothing more. Full-stock, half-stock,” she laughed, “pippin, rennet, borovinka, budding, grafting … All, all our life has gone into the orchard, I never even dream of anything but apple and pear trees. Of course, it’s good and useful, but sometimes one wants something else for diversity. I remember how you used to come to us for vacations, or just so, and the house felt somehow more fresh and bright, as if the dust covers had been taken off the furniture and lamps. I was a little girl then and yet I understood.”

She spoke for a long time and with great feeling. For some reason it occurred to him that he might become attached to this small, weak, loquacious being, get carried away, and fall in love—in their situation it was so possible and natural! This thought moved and amused him, he bent down to the sweet, preoccupied face and sang softly:

“Onegin, I will not conceal it,

Madly do I love Tatiana …” 1

When they came home, Yegor Semyonych was already up. Kovrin was not sleepy, he got to talking with the old man and went back to the gardens with him. Yegor Semyonych was tall, broad-shouldered, big-bellied, and suffered from shortness of breath, but he always walked so quickly that it was hard to keep up with him. He had an extremely preoccupied air, was always hurrying somewhere, and with a look implying that if he were even one minute late, all would be lost!

“Here’s something, my boy …” he began, pausing to catch his breath. “On the surface of the ground, as you see, it’s freezing, but if you raise the thermometer on a stick four yards above ground, it’s warm … Why is that?”

“I really don’t know,” Kovrin said, laughing.

“Hm … One can’t know everything, of course … However vast the mind, not everything will find room in it. Philosophy is more in your line?”

“Yes. I teach psychology, but I’m generally concerned with philosophy.”

“And it doesn’t bore you?”

“On the contrary, it’s all I live for.”

“Well, God be with you …” Yegor Semyonych said, stroking his side-whiskers thoughtfully. “God be with you … I’m very glad … very glad for you, my boy …”

But suddenly he cocked an ear and, making a terrible face, ran off and soon disappeared behind the trees into the clouds of smoke.

“Who tied a horse to that apple tree?” his desperate, heartrending cry was heard. “What scoundrel and villain dared to tie a horse to that apple tree? My God, my God! Befouled, begrimed, besmutted, bedeviled! The orchard’s lost! The orchard’s ruined! My God!”

When he came back to Kovrin, his face was exhausted, offended.

“What can you do with these confounded people?” he said in a tearful voice, spreading his arms. “Styopka brought a load of manure during the night and tied his horse to an apple tree! The scoundrel wrapped the reins so tightly around it that the bark wore through in three places. Imagine! I tell him, and the dimwit just stands there blinking his eyes! Hanging’s too good for him!”

Having calmed down, he embraced Kovrin and kissed him on the cheek.

“Well, God be with you … God be with you …” he muttered. “I’m very glad you’ve come. I can’t tell you how glad … Thank you.”

Then at the same quick pace and with a preoccupied air he went around all the gardens and showed his former ward the conservatories, hothouses, potting sheds, and his two apiaries, which he called the wonder of our century.

As they walked about, the sun rose and brightly lit up the gardens. It became warm. Anticipating a clear, long, happy day, Kovrin remembered that it was still only the beginning of May and the whole summer still lay ahead, just as clear, long, and happy, and suddenly a joyful young feeling stirred in his breast, such as he had experienced in childhood running about in these gardens. And he embraced the old man and kissed him tenderly They were both moved. They went in and sat down to tea from old porcelain cups, with cream, with rich, buttery rolls—and these small things again reminded Kovrin of