A heap of all sorts of refuse lay before the very door.

From the window peered the head of a Jewess, in a head-dress with discoloured pearls.
"Is your husband at home ?" said Bulba, dismounting, and fastening his horse's bridle to an iron hook beside the door.
"He is at home," said the Jewess, and hastened out at once with a measure of corn for the horse, and a stoup of beer for the rider.
"Where is your Jew ?" "He is in the other room at prayer," replied the Jewess, bowing and wishing Bulba good health as he raised the cup to his lips.
"Remain here, feed and water my horse, whilst I go speak with him alone.
I have business with him." This Jew was the well-known Yankel.

He was there as revenue-farmer and tavern-keeper.

He had gradually got nearly all the neighbouring noblemen and gentlemen into his hands, had slowly sucked away most of their money, and had strongly impressed his presence on that locality.

For a distance of three miles in all directions, not a single farm remained in a proper state.