When he straightened himself up to greet us, drops of
perspiration were rolling from his thick nose down on to his curly beard.
Peter dried his hands and seemed glad to leave his washing. He took us
down to see his chickens, and his cow that was grazing on the hillside. He
told Antonia that in his country only rich people had cows, but here any
man could have one who would take care of her. The milk was good for
Pavel, who was often sick, and he could make butter by beating sour cream
with a wooden spoon. Peter was very fond of his cow. He patted her flanks
and talked to her in Russian while he pulled up her lariat pin and set it
in a new place.
After he had shown us his garden, Peter trundled a load of watermelons up
the hill in his wheelbarrow. Pavel was not at home. He was off somewhere
helping to dig a well. The house I thought very comfortable for two men
who were "batching." Besides the kitchen, there was a living-room, with a
wide double bed built against the wall, properly made up with blue gingham
sheets and pillows. There was a little storeroom, too, with a window,
where they kept guns and saddles and tools, and old coats and boots. That
day the floor was covered with garden things, drying for winter; corn and
beans and fat yellow cucumbers. There were no screens or window-blinds in
the house, and all the doors and windows stood wide open, letting in flies
and sunshine alike.
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