Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Volume 17, No. 101, May, 1876

"Did he take the goose?" asked David.

"No, he did not take the goose. 'It's too old,' he said, 'and it's worth nothing: that's the reason the man brought it to you.'"

"But he had no right to it," cried David.

"He had no right to it, but he took it all the same. I went into the garret—we have an old chest there—and I hunted through it; and see what I found." She took out from under her shawl a great spy-glass, finished in copper and yellow morocco.

David, as an amateur and connoisseur of every kind of instrument, seized it at once. "An English glass," he said, holding it first at one eye and then at the other—"a marine telescope."

"And the glasses are whole," continued Raissa. "I showed it to father, and he said, 'Take it to the jeweler.' What do you think? Will they give me money for it? Of what use is a telescope to us? If we could see in the glass how beautiful we are! but we have no looking-glass, unfortunately."

And when she had said these words she suddenly laughed aloud. Her little sister could not have heard her, but probably she felt the shaking of her body: she had hold of Raissa's hand, and raising her great eyes, she made up a frightened face and began to cry.

"She's always like that," said Raissa: "she doesn't like to have people laugh.—Here, then, darling, I won't," she added, stooping down to the child and running, her fingers through its hair. "Do you see?"

The laughter died away from Raissa's face, and her lips, with the corners prettily turned up, again became immovable: the child was quiet.

Raissa stood up: "Here, David, take care of the telescope: it's too bad about the wood, and the goose, if it is too old."

"We shall certainly get ten rubles for it," said David, turning the telescope over. "I will buy it of you; and here are fifteen kopecks for the apothecary: is it enough?"

"I will borrow them of you," whispered Raissa, taking the fifteen kopecks.

"Yes, indeed; with interest, perhaps? I have a pledge—a very heavy one. These English are a great people."

"And yet people say we are going to war with them."

"No," answered David: "now we are threatening the French."

"Well, you know best. Don't forget. Good-bye!"

XIV

One more conversation which I heard at the hedge. Raissa seemed more than usually troubled. "Five kopecks for the very smallest head of cabbage!" she said, supporting her head on her hand. "Oh, how dear! and I have no money from my sewing!"

"Who owes you any?" asked David.

"The shopkeeper's wife, who lives behind the city wall."

"That fat woman who always wears a green sontag?"

"Yes."

"How fat she is!—too fat to breathe. She lights plenty of candles in church, but she won't pay her debts."

"Oh, she'll pay them—but when? And then, David, I have other troubles. My father has begun to narrate his dreams; and you know what trouble he had with his tongue—how he tried to say one word and uttered another. About his food and things around the house we have got used to understanding him, but even ordinary people's dreams can't be understood; and you may judge what his are. He said, 'I am very glad. I was walking to-day with the white birds, and the Lord handed me a bouquet, and in the bouquet was Andruscha with a little knife.'—He always calls my little sister Andruscha.—'Now we shall both get well: we only need a little knife, and just one cut. That's the way.' And he pointed to his own throat. I didn't understand him, but I said, 'All right, father!' but he grew angry and tried to explain what he meant. At last he burst into tears."

"Yes, but you ought to have made up something—told him some trifling lie," I interrupted.

"I can't lie," answered Raissa, raising her hands.

True, thought I to myself, she cannot lie.

"There's no need of lying," said David, "nor is there any need of your killing yourself in this way. Do you suppose any one will thank you for it?"

Raissa looked at him: "What I wanted to ask you, David, was how do you spell should?"

"What?—should?"

"Yes, for instance, 'Should you like to live?'"

"Oh!–s-h-o-u-d?"

"No," I interrupted again, "that's not right: not o-u-d, but o-u-l-d"

"Well, it's all the same," said David: "spell it with an l. The most important thing is that you should live yourself."

"I wish I knew how to spell and write properly," said Raissa, blushing slightly.

When she blushed she became at once amazingly pretty.

"It may be of use. Father in his time wrote a beautiful hand: he taught me it, too. Now he can hardly scrawl the letters."

"You must live for me," answered David, lowering his voice and gazing at her steadily. Raissa looked up quickly and blushed more deeply. "Live and spell as you please.—The devil! here's that old witch coming." (By the witch David meant my aunt.) "What brings her this way? Run off, my dear."

With one more look at David, Raissa hastened away.

It was only seldom and with great reluctance that David used to talk with me about Raissa and her family, especially since he had begun to expect his father's return. He could think of nothing but him, and how we should then live. He remembered him clearly, and used to describe him to me with great satisfaction: "Tall, strong: with one hand he could lift two hundred pounds. If he called, 'I say, boy!' the whole house could hear him. And such a man as he is—good and brave! I don't believe there's anything he's afraid of. We lived pleasantly until our misfortunes came upon us. They say his hair is become perfectly gray, but it used to be light red like mine. He's a powerful man."

David would never agree that we were going to live in Riasan.

"You'll go away," I used to say, "but I shall stay here."

"Nonsense! we'll take you with us."

"And what'll become of my father?"

"You'll leave him. If you don't, it will be the worse for you."

"How so?"

David merely frowned and made no answer.

"See here: if we go with my father," he resumed, "he will get some good position: I shall marry—"

"Not so soon as that?" I interrupted.

"Why not? I shall marry soon."