On a hot August day I happened to be on the hunt. With difficulty I reached the key called "Raspberry Water", beating from the high bank of Ista, got drunk and lay down in the shade. Not far from me sat two old men and fish. In one of them, thin, small, in a paid coat, I recognized Styopushka.

Styopushka lived in the village of Shumikhono at the gardener Mitrofan. Styopushka had no past. Who is he, where, what lives, no one knew about it. No one spoke to him, and he himself, it seems, did not open the mouth of his mouth. Mitrofan did not invite him to live, but did not drive him away either. All day Styopushka was bustling noiselessly and troublesome, like an ant, and all just for the sake of food. He had a small face, yellow eyes, hair up to eyebrows, a pointed nose, large and transparent, like a bat, ears and a sparse beard.

As a friend of Styopushki, I recognized Mikhail Saveliev, nicknamed Tuman. He was a freed man of Count Pyotr Ilyich *** and lived at the Bolkhov tradesman, the keeper of the inn. The huge two-story wooden house where the inn was located belonged to Pyotr Ilyich, a wealthy nobleman of the last century. Many old-timers still remember his feasts throughout the province. Having gone broke, he went to Petersburg to look for places, and died in a hotel room. The fog served as his butler. He was a man of about 70, with a pleasant face and a good-natured smile.

I walked over and started a conversation. The fog began to recollect the late count. He recalled the hunts and feasts that Peter Ilyich arranged, and his many lovers. The count chose them from the lower class. The most beautiful and wicked was Akulina, daughter of the Sith Dyatsky.

Suddenly in a ravine behind us there was a noise. I looked around and saw a man of about 50 with a knapsack behind him. The fog called it Vlas. A man said that he went to Moscow to his master with a request that he reduce his rent or put him on corvee. Vlas's only son died, who had previously made a quitrent for his father. The barin scribbled and drove him out. The fog asked how he would live, and Vlas with a smile on his face and with tears in his eyes replied that now there was nothing to take from him.

I asked how many dues the master had appointed him. Ninety rubles - Vlas answered and complained that there was little land, one man’s forest, and he was sold. He sat down with us and got a little sad. Half an hour later we parted.