Oxen Meadows are ours, not yours! : No, mine, honoured Natalya Stepanovna. : Well, I never knew that before. How do you make that out?
: How? I’m speaking of those Oxen Meadows which are wedged in between your birchwoods and the Burnt Marsh. : Yes, yes... they’re ours.
: No, you’re mistaken, honoured Natalya Stepanovna, they’re mine. : Just think, Ivan Vassilevitch! How long have they been yours? : How long?
As long as I can remember. : Really, you won’t get me to believe that! : But you can see from the documents, honoured Natalya Stepanovna. Oxen Meadows, it’s true, were once the subject of dispute, but now everybody knows that they are mine.
There’s nothing to argue about. You see my aunt’s grandmother gave the free use of these Meadows in perpetuity to the peasants of your father’s grandfather, in return for which they were to make bricks for her. The peasants belonging to your father’s grandfather had the free use of the Meadows for forty years, and had got into the habit of regarding them as their own, when it happened that... : No, it isn’t at all like that!
Both grandfather and great- grandfather reckoned that their land extended to Burnt Marsh — which means that Oxen Meadows were ours. I don’t see what there is to argue about. It’s simply silly! : I’ll show you the documents, Natalya Stepanovna!
: No, you’re simply joking, or making fun of me. What a surprise! We’ve had the land for nearly three hundred years, and then we’re suddenly told that it isn’t ours! Ivan Vassilevitch, I can hardly believe my own ears.
These Meadows aren’t worth much to me. They only come to five dessiatins, and are worth perhaps roubles, but I can’t stand unfairness. Say what you will, I can’t stand unfairness. : Hear me out, I implore you!
The peasants of your father’s grandfather, as I have already had the honour of explaining to you, used to bake bricks for my aunt’s grandmother. Now my aunt’s grandmother, wishing to make them a pleasant...