NEKHLYUDOV bent his head, and passed through the low gate underneath the shady shed to the apiary, which was back of the yard. The small space, surrounded by straw and a wicker fence which admitted the sunlight, where stood symmetrically arranged the beehives, covered with small boards, and surrounded by golden bees circling noisilу about them, was all bathed in the hot, brilliant rays of the June sun.

A well-trodden path led from the gate through the middle of the apiary to a wooden-roofed cross with a brass-foil image upon it, which shone glaringly in the sun. A few stately linden-trees, which towered with their curly tops above the straw thatch of the neighboring yard, rustled their fresh dark green foliage almost inaudibly, on account of the buzzing of the bees. All the shadows from the roofed fence, from the lindens, and from the beehives that were covered with boards, fell black and short upon the small, wiry grass that sprouted between the hives.

The small, bent form of an old man, with his uncovered gray, and partly bald, head shining in the sun, was seen near the door of a newly thatched, moss-caulked plank building, which was situated between the lindens. Upon hearing the creaking of the gate, the old man turned around and, wiping off his perspiring, sunburnt face with the skirt of his shirt, and smiling gently and joyfully, came to meet the master.

The apiary was so cozy, so pleasant, so quiet, and so sunlit ; the face of the gray-haired old man, with the abundant гау-Ике wrinkles about his eyes, in his wide shoes over his bare feet, who, waddling along and smiling good-naturedly and contentedly, welcomed the master in his exclusive possessions, was so simple-hearted and kind, that Nekhlyudov immediately forgot the heavy impressions of the morning, and his favorite dream rose up before him. He saw all his peasants just as rich and good-natured as old Dutlov, and all smiled kindly and joyously at him, because they owed to him alone all their wealth and happiness.

" Will you not have a net, your Grace ? The bees are angry now, and they sting," said the old man, taking down from the fence a dirty linen bag fragrant with honey, which was sewed to a bark hoop, and offering it to the master. " The bees know me, and do not sting me," he added, with a gentle smile, which hardly ever left his handsome, sunburnt face.

" Then I shall not need it, either. Well, are they swarming already?" asked Nekhlyudov, also smiling, though he knew not why.

" They are swarming, Father Dmitri Nikolaevich," answered the old man, wishing to express his especial kindness by calling his master by his name and patronymic, " but they have just begun to do it properly. It has been a cold spring, you know."

" I have read in a book," began Nekhlyudov, warding off a bee that had lost itself in his hair, and was buzzing over his very ear, " that when the combs are placed straight on little bars, the bees begin to swarm earlier. For this purpose they make hives out of boards — with cross-bea — "

" Please do not wave your hand, it will make it only worse," said the old man. " Had I not better give you the net ? "

Nekhlyudov was experiencing pain, but a certain childish conceit prevented him from acknowledging it ; he again refused the net, and continued to tell the old man about the construction of beehives, of which he had read in the " Maison Rustique," and in which the bees, according to his opinion, would swarm twice as much ; but a bee stung his neck, and he stopped confused in the middle of his argument.

" That is so, Father Dmitri Nikolaevich," said the old man, glancing at the master with fatherly condescension, " they write so in books. But they may write so maliciously. ' Let him do,' they probably say, ' as we write, and we will have the laugh on him.' I believe that is possible ! For how are you going to teach the bees where to build their combs ? They fix them in the hollow blocks as they please, sometimes crossways, and at others straight. Look here, if you please," he added, uncorking one of the nearest blocks, and looking through the opening, which was covered with buzzing and creeping bees along the crooked combs. " Now here, these young ones, they have their mind on a queen bee, but they build the comb straightways and aslant, just as it fits best into the block," said the old man, obviously carried away by his favorite subject, and not noticing the master's condition. "They are coming heavily laden to-day, it is a warm day, and everything can be seen," he added, corking up the hive, and crushing a creeping bee with a rag, and then brushing off with his coarse hand a few bees from his wrinkled brow. The bees did not sting him. But Nekhlyudov could no longer repress his desire to run out of the apiary ; the bees had stung him in three places, and they were buzzing on all sides about his head and neck.

" Have you many hives ? " he asked, retreating to the gate.

" As many as God has given," answered Dutlov, smiling. " One must not count them, father ! the bees do not like that. Now, your Grace, I wanted to ask you," he continued, pointing to thin hives that stood near the fence, " in regard to Osip, the nurse's husband. Could you not tell him to stop it ? It is mean to act thus to a neighbor of your own village."

" What is mean ? — But they do sting me ! " answered the master, taking hold of the latch of the gate.

" Every year he lets out his bees against my young ones. They ought to have a chance to improve, but somebody else's bees steal their wax, and do other damage," said the old man, without noticing the master's grimaces.

" All right, later, directly," said Nekhlyiidov, and, unable to stand the pain any longer, he rushed out of the gate, defending himself with both hands.

" Rub it in with dirt ; it will pass," said the old man, following the master into the yard. The master rubbed with dirt the place where he had been stung, blushingly looked at Karp and Iguat, who did not see him, and frowned angrily.