going to cut berries with
an axe."

"No, Little Stupid," says the first, "we are not going to cut berries
with the axe."

"No, Little Stupid," says the second; "the axe is here for something
else."

The little one begged them not to frighten her.

Says the first, "Give me your transparent apple."

Says the second, "Give me your silver saucer."

"If you don't give them up at once, we shall kill you." That is what
the bad ones said.

The poor little one begged them. "O darling sisters, do not kill me! I
haven't got the saucer or the apple with me at all."

"What a lie!" say the bad ones. "You never would leave it behind."

And one caught her by the hair, and the other swung the axe, and
between them they killed the little pretty one, who was called Little
Stupid because she was so good.

Then they looked for the saucer and the apple, and could not find
them. But it was too late now. So they made a hole in the ground, and
buried the little one under a birch tree.

When the sun went down the bad ones came home, and they wailed with
false voices, and rubbed their eyes to make the tears come. They made
their eyes red and their noses too, and they did not look any prettier
for that.

"What is the matter with you, little pigeons?" said the old merchant
and his wife. I would not say "little pigeons" to such bad ones.
Black-hearted crows is what I would call them.

And they wail and lament aloud,--

"We are miserable for ever. Our poor little sister is lost. We looked
for her everywhere. We heard the wolves howling. They must have eaten
her."

The old mother and father cried like rivers in springtime, because
they loved the little pretty one, who was called Little Stupid because
she was so good.

But before their tears were dry the bad ones began to ask for the
silver saucer and the transparent apple.

"No, no," says the old man; "I shall keep them for ever, in memory of
my poor little daughter whom God has taken away."

So the bad ones did not gain by killing their little sister.

"That is one good thing," said Vanya.

"But is that all, grandfather?" said Maroosia.

"Wait a bit, little pigeons. Too much haste set his shoes on fire. You
listen, and you will hear what happened," said old Peter. He took a
pinch of snuff from a little wooden box, and then he went on with his
tale.

Time did not stop with the death of the little girl. Winter came, and
the snow with it. Everything was all white, just as