.

"Well . . . I fancy it is time," said the non-commissioned officer,
after a prolonged silence.

Pelageya's face worked all over and she began blubbering. . . .

The soldier took a big loaf from the table, stood beside nurse, and
began blessing the couple. The cabman went up to the soldier, flopped
down on his knees, and gave a smacking kiss on his hand. He did the
same before nurse. Pelageya followed him mechanically, and she too
bowed down to the ground. At last the outer door was opened, there
was a whiff of white mist, and the whole party flocked noisily out
of the kitchen into the yard.

"Poor thing, poor thing," thought Grisha, hearing the sobs of the
cook. "Where have they taken her? Why don't papa and mamma protect
her?"

After the wedding there was singing and concertina-playing in the
laundry till late evening. Mamma was cross all the evening because
nurse smelt of vodka, and owing to the wedding there was no one to
heat the samovar. Pelageya had not come back by the time Grisha
went to bed.

"The poor thing is crying somewhere in the dark!" he thought. "While
the cabman is saying to her 'shut up!'"

Next morning the cook was in the kitchen again. The cabman came in
for a minute. He thanked mamma, and glancing sternly at Pelageya,
said:

"Will you look after her, madam? Be a father and a mother to her.
And you, too, Aksinya Stepanovna, do not forsake her, see that
everything is as it should be . . . without any nonsense. . . . And
also, madam, if you would kindly advance me five roubles of her
wages. I have got to buy a new horse-collar."

Again a problem for Grisha: Pelageya was living in freedom, doing
as she liked, and not having to account to anyone for her actions,
and all at once, for no sort of reason, a stranger turns up, who
has somehow acquired rights over her conduct and her property!
Grisha was distressed. He longed passionately, almost to tears, to
comfort this victim, as he supposed, of man's injustice. Picking
out the very biggest apple in the store-room he stole into the
kitchen, slipped it into Pelageya's hand, and darted headlong away.

SLEEPY

NIGHT. Varka, the little nurse, a girl of thirteen, is rocking the
cradle in which the baby is lying, and humming hardly audibly:

"Hush-a-bye, my baby wee,
While I sing a song for thee."

A little green lamp is burning before the ikon; there is a string
stretched from one end of the room to the o