hand.

All the time he was doing this Vanya and Maroosia were snuggling
together close by the stove, thinking what story they would ask for,
and listening to the crashing of the snow as it fell from the trees
outside. Now that old Peter was at home, the noise made them feel
comfortable and warm. Before, perhaps, it made them feel a little
frightened.

"Well, little pigeons, little hawks, little bear cubs, what is it to
be?" said old Peter.

"We don't know," said Maroosia.

"Long hair, short sense, little she-pigeon," said old Peter. "All this
time and not thought of a story? Would you like the tale of the little
Snow Girl who was not loved so much as a hen?"

"Not to-night, grandfather," said Vanya.

"We'd like that tale when the snow melts," said Maroosia.

"To-night we'd like a story we've never heard before," said Vanya.

"Well, well," said old Peter, combing his great gray beard with his
fingers, and looking out at them with twinkling eyes from under his
big bushy eyebrows. "Have I ever told you the story of 'The Silver
Saucer and the Transparent Apple'?"

"No, no, never," cried Vanya and Maroosia at once.

Old Peter took a last pull at his pipe, and Vanya and Maroosia
wriggled with excitement. Then he drank a sip of tea. Then he began.

THE TALE OF THE SILVER SAUCER AND THE TRANSPARENT APPLE.

There was once an old peasant, and he must have had more brains under
his hair than ever I had, for he was a merchant, and used to take
things every year to sell at the big fair of Nijni Novgorod. Well, I
could never do that. I could never be anything better than an old
forester.

"Never mind, grandfather," said Maroosia.

God knows best, and He makes some merchants and some foresters, and
some good and some bad, all in His own way. Anyhow this one was a
merchant, and he had three daughters. They were none of them so bad to
look at, but one of them was as pretty as Maroosia. And she was the
best of them too. The others put all the hard work on her, while they
did nothing but look at themselves in the looking-glass and complain
of what they had to eat. They called the pretty one "Little Stupid,"
because she was so good and did all their work for them. Oh, they were
real bad ones, those two. We wouldn't have them in here for a minute.

Well, the time came round for the merchant to pack up and go to the
big fair. He called his daughters, and said, "Little pigeons," just as
I say to you. "Little pigeo