"Is that all?" asked Vanya, though he knew it was not.
"Not quite," said old Peter; "but the tale won"t go any quicker than my old tongue."
In the morning the old woman had forgotten about her promise. And just from habit, she set about scolding the old man as if the whips had never jumped out of the whistle. She scolded him for sleeping too long, sent him upstairs, with a lot of cross words after him, to go to the top of the dovecot to see how those turnips were getting on.
After a little the old man came down.
"The turnips are coming on grandly," says he, "and not a single one has gone in the night. I told you the children said they would not steal any more."
"I don"t believe you," said the old woman. "I"ll see for myself. And if any are gone, you shall pay for it, and pay for it well."
Up she jumped, and tried to climb the stairs. But the stairs were narrow and steep and twisting. She tried and tried, and could not get up at all. So she gets angrier than ever, and starts scolding the old man again.
"You must carry me up," says she.
"I have to hold on with both hands, or I couldn"t get up myself," says the old man.
"I"ll get in the flour sack, and you must carry me up with your teeth," says she; "they"re strong enough."
And the old woman got into the flour sack.
"Don"t ask me any questions," says the old man; and he took the sack in his teeth and began slowly climbing up the stairs, holding on with both hands.
He climbed and climbed, but he did not climb fast enough for the old woman.
"Are we at the top?" says she.
The old man said nothing, but went on, climbing up and up, nearly dead with the weight of the old woman in the sack which he was holding in his teeth.
He climbed a little further, and the old woman screamed out,--
"Are we at the top now? We must be at the top. Let me out, you old fool!"
The old man said nothing; he climbed on and on.
The old woman raged in the flour sack. She jumped about in the sack, and screamed at the old man,--
"Are we near the top now? Answer me, can"t you! Answer me at once, or you"ll pay for it later. Are we near the top?"
"Very near," said the old man.
And as he opened his mouth to say that the sack slipped from between his teeth, and b.u.mp, b.u.mp, b.u.mpety b.u.mp, the old woman in the sack fell all the way to the very bottom, b.u.mping on every step. That was the end of her.
After that the old man lived alone in the hut. When he wanted tobacco or clothes or a new axe, he made the goat sneeze some gold pieces, and off he went to the town with plenty of money in his pocket. When he wanted his dinner he had only to lay the tablecloth. He never had any washing up to do, because the tablecloth did it for him. When he wanted to get rid of troublesome guests, he gave them the whistle to blow. And when he was lonely and wanted company, he went to the little hut under the pine trees and played with the little queer children.
LITTLE MASTER MISERY.
Once upon a time there were two brothers, peasants, and one was kind and the other was cunning. And the cunning one made money and became rich--very rich--so rich that he thought himself far too good for the village. He went off to the town, and dressed in fine furs, and clothed his wife in rich brocades, and made friends among the merchants, and began to live as merchants live, eating all day long, no longer like a simple peasant who eats kasha one day, kasha the next day, and for a change kasha on the third day also. And always he grew richer and richer.
It was very different with the kind one. He lent money to a neighbour, and the neighbour never paid it back. He sowed before the last frost, and lost all his crops. His horse went lame. His cow gave no milk. If his hens laid eggs, they were stolen; and if he set a night-line in the river, some one else always pulled it out and stole the fish and the hooks. Everything went wrong with him, and each day saw him poorer than the day before. At last there came a time when he had not a crumb of bread in the house. He and his wife were thin as sticks because they had nothing to eat, and the children were crying all day long because of their little empty stomachs. From morning till night he dug and worked, struggling against poverty like a fish against the ice; but it was no good. Things went from bad to worse.
At last his wife said to him: "You must go to the town and see that rich brother of yours. He will surely not refuse to give you a little help."
And he said: "Truly, wife, there is nothing else to be done. I will go to the town, and perhaps my rich brother will help me. I am sure he would not let my children starve. After all, he is their uncle."
So he took his stick and tramped off to the town.
He came to the house of his rich brother. A fine house it was, with painted eaves and a doorway carved by a master. Many servants were there and food in plenty, and people coming and going. He went in and found his brother, and said,--
"Dear brother of mine, I beg you help me, even if only a little. My wife and children are without bread. All day long they sit hungry and waiting, and I have no food to give them."
The rich brother looks at him, and hums and strokes his beard. Then says he: "I will help you. But, of course, you must do something in return. Stay here and work for me, and at the end of a week you shall have the help you have earned."
The poor brother thanked him, and bowed and kissed his hand, and praised G.o.d for the kindness of his brother"s heart, and set instantly to work. For a whole week he slaved, and scarcely slept. He cleaned out the stables and cut the wood, swept the yard, drew water from the well, and ran errands for the cook. And at the end of the week his brother called him, and gave him a single loaf of bread.
"You must not forget," says the rich brother, "that I have fed you all the week you have been here, and all that food counts in the payment."
The poor brother thanked him, and was setting off to carry the loaf to his wife and children when the rich brother called him back.
"Stop a minute," said he; "I would like you to know that I am well disposed towards you. To-morrow is my name-day. Come to the feast, and bring your wife with you."
"How can I do that, brother? Your friends are rich merchants, with fine clothes, and boots on their feet. And I have nothing but my old coat, and my legs are bound in rags and my feet shuffle along in straw slippers. I do not want to shame you before your guests."
"Never mind about that," says the rich brother; "we will find a place for you."
"Very good, brother, and thank you kindly. G.o.d be praised for having given you a tender heart."
And the poor brother, though he was tired out after all the work he had done, set off home as fast as he could to take the bread to his wife and children.
"He might have given you more than that," said his wife.
"But listen," said he; "what do you think of this? To-morrow we are invited, you and I, as guests, to go to a great feast."
"What do you mean? A feast? Who has invited us?"
"My brother has invited us. To-morrow is his name-day. I always told you he had a kind heart. We shall be well fed, and I dare say we shall be able to bring back something for the children."
"A pleasure like that does not often come our way," said his wife.
So early in the morning they got up, and walked all the way to the town, so as not to shame the rich brother by putting up their old cart in the yard beside the merchants" fine carriages. They came to the rich brother"s house, and found the guests all a.s.sembled and making merry; rich merchants and their plump wives, all eating and laughing and drinking and talking.
They wished a long life to the rich brother, and the poor brother wanted to make a speech, congratulating him on his name-day. But the rich brother scarcely thanked him, because he was so busy entertaining the rich merchants and their plump, laughing wives. He was pressing food on his guests, now this, now that, and calling to the servants to keep their gla.s.ses filled and their plates full of all the tastiest kinds of food. As for the poor brother and his wife, the rich one forgot all about them, and they got nothing to eat and never a drop to drink. They just sat there with empty plates and empty gla.s.ses, watching how the others ate and drank. The poor brother laughed with the rest, because he did not wish to show that he had been forgotten.
The dinner came to an end. One by one the guests went up to the giver of the feast to thank him for his good cheer. And the poor brother too got up from the bench, and bowed low before his brother and thanked him.