The forest was silent. An atmosphere of church-like stillness brooded
round every branch and leaf. It seemed as if in the azure heights of the
sky a solemn mystery was being performed, and the earth lay silent in
solemn awe. The birds were hidden in the bushes and not a squirrel could
be seen. The heat had penetrated even the shady parts of the wood; it
was cool only in the ravines where scanty rivulets trickled over the
sandy ground and conjured forth a green cloud of fine perfumed grass. A
profusion of flowers--red, yellow, white and blue--grew on the slopes.
They arranged themselves in most fantastic patterns, crowded together in
gay groups, or climbed the hills singly. Some seemed to stretch
themselves as though with curiosity on swaying stems, others hung their
heads languidly. The wild rose-bush opened its first blossoms like
thirsty red lips which could not breathe in air enough. From a thousand
altars rose incense in this majestic temple; the mysterious Celebration
continued in the heights above and the sun glowed and glittered like a
golden chalice in the hands of the invisible high-priest.
Only from one corner came the sound of suppressed laughter. It was
difficult to recognize Anjuta again. Her pale face had become
sunburnt, her eyes glowed, and her mouth smiled continually. Just now
the smile would have turned into loud laughter, had not the child feared
to awaken Grandfather. The latter had found for himself a cool spot by
the edge of the stream and was sleeping with his cap under his head,
like an old wolf, after a full meal. Anjuta had just been throwing
flowers at him. A tiny beetle had crawled out of one, and the child held
her breath as she watched its movements. The beetle balanced itself
skilfully on one of the longer hairs of Ivan's beard, then fell among
the grey stubble, worked its way laboriously out with its slender wings,
and finally settled on the old man's nose. Then the little girl could no
longer contain herself; she laughed outright and clapped her hands.
"Good-for-nothing brat!" growled Ivan, awaking. "Can't you be quiet?" He
shook off the flowers and tried to seize her.
Anjuta sprang with a joyous shriek among the reeds, rustled about among
them, and presently her voice was heard calling from the opposite bank
of the stream, "Catch me, Grandfather! Catch me!"
"That beats everything. Go and play with the squirrels! They are just
such wind-bags as you are!"
"But I want to play with you."
"Well, you will have to wait long for that," and he crept quietly nearer
to her.
"Grandfather, where are you?" she cried in an anxious tone.
"Grandfather, I am frightened."
"There, I have caught you," he exclaimed suddenly and held the
struggling child fast. "How wet you are, a regular frog!"
The child flung her puny arms round his brown sinewy neck and coaxed
him. "Grandfather, listen, Grandfather! Now you be the wolf!"
"You are always wanting something," he grumbled discontentedly.
"Please! Please! You can do it so beautifully. I will be the little
hare. Little hare with the long ears."
"Then I must eat you, stupid!" And the old man took the trouble to roll
his eyes and growl fiercely.
But it was very difficult to satisfy Anjuta. "But you don't do it
properly. Please, please come!" She stooped down and looked pleadingly
into his eyes overhung by their shaggy brows.
"Very well, little one! Here goes!"
He placed the child carefully on the ground and crept among the reeds
and bushes. The thorns scratched his face and hands, but he had
something more important to think about. He lay flat and kept a sharp
look-out. Were it not for his eyes, his grey shaggy head might frighten
one. In order to heighten the illusion, he gnashed with his teeth.
Anjuta played the part of the hare, sprang hither and thither, pulled at
the grasses, and waved her hands to and fro above her head, to represent
long ears. She pretended not to notice the old man.
"I don't see you. Grandfather, really I don't!"
Then the wolf sprang out of his hiding-place; the hare fled to the
stream, crossed over, and climbed the opposite bank. But the wicked wolf
came creeping nearer and nearer and seized the poor little animal by the
throat with his great jaws.
"Were you very frightened?" the old wolf asked good-humouredly.
"Not a little bit. Grandfather, why does the wolf eat hares?"
"He can't eat grass. He wants flesh--hares, dogs, fowls, little children
like you--it is all the same to him. He seizes them so, you see, and
tears them in pieces."
"Does it hurt them?" asked Anjuta.
"Oh, you stupid, stupid thing! Of course it hurts them. Death is never
pleasant."
Anjuta became very thoughtful. "Do you know, Grandfather," she said
after a pause, "we won't play that game any more. You must not be a
wolf. Wolves are wicked and you are good." "I--good? Ah, you...." Ivan
made a long pause; something seemed to stick in his throat. "For you
perhaps I may be good"--he cleared his throat violently--"You see,
Anjuta, when I was little like you, no one said a kind word to me. I was
thrashed nearly to a jelly, and always black and blue. Otherwise I would
have been good; why should I be wicked without a reason? Oh, you stupid
little thing, what do you know about it?"
"Take me on your arm," asked Anjuta, standing on tiptoe.