ulder, and, catching up her pail of water, started at a run
for the hole in the bank.

Jake helped grandmother to the ground, saying he would bring the
provisions after he had blanketed his horses. We went slowly up the icy
path toward the door sunk in the drawside. Blue puffs of smoke came from
the stovepipe that stuck out through the grass and snow, but the wind
whisked them roughly away.

Mrs. Shimerda opened the door before we knocked and seized grandmother's
hand. She did not say 'How do!' as usual, but at once began to cry,
talking very fast in her own language, pointing to her feet which were
tied up in rags, and looking about accusingly at everyone.

The old man was sitting on a stump behind the stove, crouching over as
if he were trying to hide from us. Yulka was on the floor at his feet,
her kitten in her lap. She peeped out at me and smiled, but, glancing up
at her mother, hid again. Antonia was washing pans and dishes in a
dark corner. The crazy boy lay under the only window, stretched on
a gunny-sack stuffed with straw. As soon as we entered, he threw a
grain-sack over the crack at the bottom of the door. The air in the cave
was stifling, and it was very dark, too. A lighted lantern, hung over
the stove, threw out a feeble yellow glimmer.

Mrs. Shimerda snatched off the covers of two barrels behind the door,
and made us look into them. In one there were some potatoes that had
been frozen and were rotting, in the other was a little pile of flour.
Grandmother murmured something in embarrassment, but the Bohemian woman
laughed scornfully, a kind of whinny-laugh, and, catching up an empty
coffee-pot from the shelf, shook it at us with a look positively
vindictive.

Grandmother went on talking in her polite Virginia way, not admitting
their stark need or her own remissness, until Jake arrived with the
hamper, as if in direct answer to Mrs. Shimerda's reproaches. Then the
poor woman broke down. She dropped on the floor beside her crazy son,
hid her face on her knees, and sat crying bitterly. Grandmother paid no
heed to her, but called Antonia to come and help empty the basket. Tony
left her corner reluctantly. I had never seen her crushed like this
before.

'You not mind my poor mamenka, Mrs. Burden. She is so sad,' she
whispered, as she wiped her wet hands on her skirt and took the things
grandmother handed her.

The crazy boy, seeing the food, began to make soft, gurgling noises
and stroked his stomach