The sportsman's saying, that if the first beast or the first bird

is not missed, the day will be lucky, turned out correct.

At ten o'clock Levin, weary, hungry, and happy after a tramp of

twenty miles, returned to his night's lodging with nineteen head

of fine game and one duck, which he tied to his belt, as it would

not go into the game bag. His companions had long been awake,

and had had time to get hungry and have breakfast.

"Wait a bit, wait a bit, I know there are nineteen," said Levin,

counting a second time over the grouse and snipe, that looked so

much less important now, bent and dry and bloodstained, with

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heads crooked aside, than they did when they were flying.

The number was verified, and Stepan Arkadyevitch's envy pleased

Levin. He was pleased too on returning to find the man sent by

Kitty with a note was already there.

"I am perfectly well and happy. If you were uneasy about me, you

can feel easier than ever. I've a new bodyguard, Marya

Vlasyevna,"--this was the midwife, a new and important personage

in Levin's domestic life. "She has come to have a look at me.

She found me perfectly well, and we have kept her till you are

back. All are happy and well, and please, don't be in a hurry to

come back, but, if the sport is good, stay another day."

These two pleasures, his lucky shooting and the letter from his

wife, were so great that two slightly disagreeable incidents

passed lightly over Levin. One was that the chestnut trace

horse, who had been unmistakably overworked on the previous day,

was off his feed and out of sorts. The coachman said he was

"Overdriven yesterday, Konstantin Dmitrievitch. Yes, indeed!

driven ten miles with no sense!"

The other unpleasant incident, which for the first minute

destroyed his good humor, though later he laughed at it a great

deal, was to find that of all the provisions Kitty had provided

in such abundance that one would have thought there was enough

for a week, nothing was left. On his way back, tired and hungry

from shooting, Levin had so distinct a vision of meat-pies that

as he approached the hut he seemed to smell and taste them, as

Laska had smelt the game, and he immediately told Philip to give

him some. It appeared that there were no pies left, nor even any

chicken.

"Well, this fellow's appetite!" said Stepan Arkadyevitch,

laughing and pointing at Vassenka Veslovsky. "I never suffer

from loss of appetite, but he's really marvelous!..."




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