but she still continues to send us the most
delightful fiction. Mr. PUNCH is privileged in being able to offer his
readers the opening of a new and fascinating story translated from the
Russian of Ghastlilkoff.)_

I was born in the year 18--, and I have never ceased to regret it. I
lived with my grandmother. She was called Natasha. I do not know why.
She had a large mole on her left cheek. Often she would embrace me with
tears and lament over me, crying, "My little sad one, my little lonely
one!" Yet I was not sad; I had too many griefs. Nor was I lonely, for I
had no playmates.

Often my grandmother told me I was ugly. I had no mirror, so I believed
her. When I was sixteen a man I met in the street went mad for love of
me and cut his throat. For the first time in my life I wondered if my
grandmother always spoke the truth. I went home and wept, but when she
asked me why I could not tell her.

Our house was quite dark. It had three rooms leading in and out of one
another, and no windows. There was not much fresh air. Every morning my
grandmother went out to buy otchkza and pickled onions. The man who sold
them was very old. He had a cast in each eye. He inquired of my
grandmother if she would allow him to be my husband, but she refused.
His name I do not remember.

Our neighbours were very pleasant people, kindly and simple. There was a
half-witted youth called Krop. He used to fill his mouth with large
brass-headed nails. I did not dare to go near him, for he always tried
to bite my arms. One day I learned that he had died. My grandmother
bought me black silk mittens to wear at his funeral. I was very proud,
and ran out into the road to show them to the other children. But in my
haste I split them across from seam to seam, and my grandmother whipped
me and put me to bed.

My grandmother's chief friend was a woman who sold toasted cheese. It
was her custom to bring round the delicacy on a small hand-cart and sell
to the children for a few kopecks. This woman was reputed to be very
rich. She was not beautiful, for she had no teeth, and had hair on her
face. The first time I saw her I ran into the house and hid behind the
large barrel of butter-milk. My grandmother took me by the ear and led
me to her friend.

"This is Ilonoka," she said. "She is a good girl."

I remember that I cried very loud.

Afterwards my grandmother told me that perhaps the woman would leave me
all her money. Next time she came I wished to