urnt cheeks. Nor
was she altogether unaware of her attractions, for even at so early an
age she had a goodly share of the inordinate vanity common to her sex,
and liked nothing better than appearing out-of-doors in a new frock
plentifully besprinkled with rosettes and ribbons. The flower, she told
herself, would look well on her scarlet bodice, and would be a good
set-off to her black hair and olive complexion. All this was, of course,
beyond the comprehension of Ivan, who regarded his sister's weakness
with the most supreme contempt, and for his own part was never so happy
as when skylarking with other boys and getting into every conceivable
kind of mischief. Yet for all that he was in the main sensible, almost
beyond his years, and extremely fond, and--though he would not admit
it--proud of Olga.

She fixed the flower in her dress, and imitating to the best of her
knowledge the carriage of royalty, strutted up and down, saying "Am I
not grand? Don't I look nice? Ivan--salute me!"

And Ivan was preparing to salute her in the proper military style,
taught him by a great friend of his in the village, a soldier in the
carabineers for whom he had an intense admiration, when his jaw suddenly
fell and his eyes bulged.

"Whatever is the matter with you?" Olga asked.

"There's nothing the matter with me," Ivan cried, shrinking away from
her; "but there is with you. Don't! don't make such faces--they frighten
me," and turning round, he ran to the place where he had made his
descent and tried to climb up.

Some minutes later the mother of the children, hearing piercing shrieks
for help, flew to the pit, and, missing her footing, slipped over the
brink, and falling some ten or more feet, broke one of her legs and
otherwise bruised herself. For some seconds she was unconscious, and the
first sight that met her eyes on coming to was Ivan kneeling on the
ground, feebly endeavouring to hold at bay a gaunt grey wolf that had
already bitten him about the legs and thigh, and was now trying hard to
fix its wicked white fangs into his throat.

"Help me, mother!" Ivan gasped; "I'm getting exhausted. It's Olga."

"Olga!" the mother screamed, making frantic efforts to come to his
assistance. "Olga! what do you mean?"

"It's all owing to a flower--a white flower," Ivan panted; "Olga would
pluck it, and no sooner had she fixed it on her dress than she turned
into a wolf! Quick, quick! I can't hold it off any longer."

Thus adjured t