"Who ever heard of children fighting their own father?
That's enough for the present; the child is young, he has had a long journey, he is tired." The child was over twenty, and about six feet high.

"He ought to rest, and eat something; and you set him to fighting!" "You are a gabbler!" said Bulba.

"Don't listen to your mother, my lad; she is a woman, and knows nothing.

What sort of petting do you need?
A clear field and a good horse, that's the kind of petting for you! And do you see this sword?
that's your mother! All the rest people stuff your heads with is rubbish; the academy, books, primers, philosophy, and all that, I spit upon it all!" Here Bulba added a word which is not used in print.

"But I'll tell you what is best: I'll take you to Zaporozhe (1) this very week.