"Heaven knows where he does not keep beating me--across the back, and even where I am tenderer still.

Yes, he keeps catching the whip in my ears, and lashing me under the belly." "To the right, eh ?" snapped Selifan to the girl beside him as he pointed to a rain-soaked road which trended away through fresh green fields.
"No, no," she replied.

"I will show you the road when the time comes." "Which way, then ?" he asked again when they had proceeded a little further.
"This way." And she pointed to the road just mentioned.
"Get along with you!" retorted the coachman.

"That DOES go to the right.
You don't know your right hand from your left." The weather was fine, but the ground so excessively sodden that the wheels of the britchka collected mire until they had become caked as with a layer of felt, a circumstance which greatly increased the weight of the vehicle, and prevented it from clearing the neighbouring parishes before the afternoon was arrived.

Also, without the girl's help the finding of the way would have been impossible, since roads wiggled away in every direction, like crabs released from a net, and, but for the assistance mentioned, Selifan would have found himself left to his own devices.