le hut on
hen's legs.

The little girl ran on home. She was afraid to go in and see her
stepmother, so she ran into the shed.

Scratch, scratch! Out came the little mouse.

"So you got away all right, my dear," says the little mouse. "Now run
in. Don't be afraid. Your father is back, and you must tell him all
about it."

The little girl went into the house.

"Where have you been?" says her father; "and why are you so out of
breath?"

The stepmother turned yellow when she saw her, and her eyes glowed,
and her teeth ground together until they broke.

But the little girl was not afraid, and she went to her father and
climbed on his knee, and told him everything just as it had happened.
And when the old man knew that the stepmother had sent his little
daughter to be eaten by Baba Yaga, he was so angry that he drove her
out of the hut, and ever afterwards lived alone with the little girl.
Much better it was for both of them.

"And the little mouse?" said Ivan.

"The little mouse," said old Peter, "came and lived in the hut, and
every day it used to sit up on the table and eat crumbs, and warm its
paws on the little girl's glass of tea."

"Tell us a story about a cat, please, grandfather," said Vanya, who
was sitting with Vladimir curled up in his arms.

"The story of a very happy cat," said Maroosia; and then, scratching
Bayan's nose, she added, "and afterwards a story about a dog."

"I'll tell you the story of a very unhappy cat who became very happy,"
said old Peter. "I'll tell you the story of the Cat who became
Head-forester."

THE CAT WHO BECAME HEAD-FORESTER.

If you drop Vladimir by mistake, you know he always falls on his feet.
And if Vladimir tumbles off the roof of the hut, he always falls on
his feet. Cats always fall on their feet, on their four paws, and
never hurt themselves. And as in tumbling, so it is in life. No cat is
ever unfortunate for very long. The worse things look for a cat, the
better they are going to be.

Well, once upon a time, not so very long ago, an old peasant had a cat
and did not like him. He was a tom-cat, always fighting; and he had
lost one ear, and was not very pretty to look at. The peasant thought
he would get rid of his old cat, and buy a new one from a neighbour.
He did not care what became of the old tom-cat with one ear, so long
as he never saw him again. It was no use thinking of killing him, for
it is a life's work to kill a cat, and it's likely eno