tte, while he waited for her. She was
gone a long time, as it seemed to him, and he was beginning to wonder
whether anything had happened, when she suddenly made her appearance,
noiseless in her walk, as always. The old wolf's skin was hung over one
shoulder, and she carried besides a limp-looking brown paper parcel, tied
with a bit of folded ribband. As he caught sight of her face in the light
of the street lamp, Schmidt fancied that she was paler than before, and
that her cheek was wet.

"I am sorry I was so long," she said. "The little sister cried because I
would not stay, and I had to quiet her. Here is the skin. Do you see? I am
afraid this is a very big hole--and the hair comes out in handfuls. Look
at it."

"It was a very old wolf," remarked the Cossack, holding the skin up under
the gaslight.

"Does that make it worth less?" asked Vjera anxiously.

"Not of itself; on the contrary. And I can mend the hole, if you have the
thread and needle. The worst thing about it all is the way the hairs fall
out. I am afraid the moths have been at it, Vjera." He shook his head
gravely. "I am afraid the moths have done a great deal of damage."

"Oh, if I had only known--I would have been so careful! And to think that
it might have been worth something."

"It is worth something as it is, but at the pawnbroker's they will not
lend much on it." He took the threaded needle, which she had not
forgotten, and sitting down upon the edge of the pavement spread the skin
upon his knees with the fur downwards. Then he quickly began to draw the
hole together, sewing it firmly with the furrier's cross stitch, and so
neatly that the seam looked like a single straight line on the side of the
leather, while it was quite invisible in the fur on the other.

"What is the other thing you have brought?" he inquired without looking up
from his work. The light was bad, and he had to bend his eyes close to the
sewing.

"It is something I may be able to sell," said Vjera in a rather unsteady
voice.

"Silver?" asked Schmidt, cheerfully.

"Oh no--not silver--something dearer," she said, almost under her breath.
"I am afraid it is very hard for you to see," she added quickly,
attempting to avoid his questions. "Do you not think that I could hold a
match for you, to make a little more light? You always have some with
you."

"Wait a moment--yes--I have almost finished the seam--here is the box.
Now, if you can hold the match just there, just o