I began while mamma was with us; the lady in
Mourum taught me. I wish very much to go on with it."

Uncle Volodia pondered. It might be an amusement for the poor girl,
and no one need know of the crazy notion of selling them.

"If you like, _Matoushka_. Do just as you like," he said.

So it was decided that Elena should be driven over to Mourum on the
next market day.

Volodia had undertaken, in the intervals of shop-keeping, to teach
little Daria how to count; with the elaborate arrangement of small
coloured balls, on a wire frame like a gridiron, with which he added
up his own sums--instead of pencil and paper.

They sat down side by side with the utmost gravity. Old Volodia with
the frame in one hand, Daria on a low stool, her curly golden head
bent forward over the balls, as she moved them up and down, with a
pucker on her forehead.

"Two and one's five, and three's seven, and four's twelve, and
six's----"

"Oh, Daria Andreievna! You're not thinking about what you're doing!"

"Oh, really I am, Uncle Volodia; but those tiresome little yellow
balls keep getting in the way."

And then the lesson began all over again, until Daria sprang up with a
laugh, and shaking out her black frock, declared she had a pain in her
neck, and must run about a little!

"What a child it is!" cried Volodia admiringly. "If she lives to be a
hundred, she'll never learn the multiplication table!"

CHAPTER VII.

A post-sledge was gliding rapidly over the frozen road towards
Viletna; and as it neared the village, a thin worn man, with white
hair, who was sitting in it alone, leant forward and touched the
driver.

"I want to go to the great house. You remember?"

"Oh, you're going to see Mikhail? He hasn't come to the great house
yet, though. It's all being done up."

"No, I'm going to Madame Olsheffsky's!"

"Anna Olsheffsky! Haven't you heard she was drowned in the flood?
Washed away. Just before the children lost their property to that
thief of a cousin!"

The driver went on adding the details, not noticing that the gentleman
had fallen back, and lay gasping as if for air.

"You knew Anna Olsheffsky, perhaps?" he said at last, turning towards
the traveller. Then seeing his face, "Holy Saints! What is the matter?
He'll die surely, and no help to be had!"

"She was my wife," said the gentleman hoarsely. "You don't remember
me? I am Andre Olsheffsky."

"To think that I shouldn't have known you, _Barin!_" cried the dri