Fortunately the winter that year was late in coming, so that the
peasants of Viletna were able to build some sort of shelter for
themselves before it set in with real severity.
Volodia's house, which stood in the centre of the village, had been
finished long before any of his neighbours'.
"That's what comes of being a rich man," they said to each other, not
grumbling, but stating a fact. "He can employ what men he likes; it is
a fine thing to have money."
Volodia's shop had always been popular, but with the arrival of the
three children it became ten times more so.
Everyone wished to show sympathy for their misfortunes; and all those
who were sufficiently well off, brought a little present, and left it
with Volodia's wife, with many mysterious nods and explanations.
"Don't tell _them_ anything about it, but just cook it. It's a chicken
we reared ourselves--one of those saved from the flood."
Volodia would have liked to give the things back again, but his wife
declared this would be such an affront to the donors that she really
couldn't undertake to do it.
"It's not for ourselves, Volodia Ivanovitch, but for those poor
innocent children; I can't refuse what's kindly meant. Many's the
_rouble_ Anna Olsheffsky (of blessed memory) has given to the people
here, and why shouldn't they be allowed to do their part?"
Meanwhile, Elena and Boris, were getting slowly used to their changed
life. It still seemed more like a dream than a reality; but they began
to feel at home in the wooden house, and Elena had even commenced to
learn some needlework from Var-Vara, and to help Maria in as many ways
as that active old woman would allow of.
"Don't you touch it, Elena Andreïevna," she would say, anxiously,
"it's not fit you should work like us. Leave it to Adam, and Var-Vara,
and me. We're used to it, and it's suitable."
And so Elena had to give herself up to being waited upon as tenderly
by the old servants, as she had been during their time of happiness at
the great house.
Boris had no time for brooding, for he was working hard at his lessons
with the village Priest; and as to little Daria, she had quickly
adapted herself to the new surroundings.
She played with Tulipan, made snow castles in Volodia's side yard, and
whenever she had the chance, enjoyed a sledge drive with Alexis, in
the forest.
"If only mamma were here, I should be quite happy," she said to Elena.
"It does seem so dreadful, Elena, to think of that horrible flood. You
don't think it will come again, do you?"
Elena's eyes filled with tears, as she answered reassuringly.
"You'll see mamma some day, Daria, if you're a very good girl; and
meantime, you know, she would like you to learn your lessons, and be
as obedient as possible to Var-Vara."
"Well, I do try, Elena, but she is so tiresome sometimes. She won't
let me play with the village children! They're very nice, but she says
they're peasants. I'm sure I try to remember what you teach me, though
the things _are_ so difficult. I'm not so _very_ lazy, Elena!"
Elena stooped her dark brown head over the little golden one.
"You're a darling, Daria! I know you do your best, when you don't
forget all about it!"
Volodia Ivanovitch had devoted his two best rooms to the children. He
had at first wished to give up the whole of his house to them, with
the exception of one bedroom; but Elena had developed a certain
strength of character and resolution during their troubles, and
absolutely refused to listen to this idea; so that finally the old man
was obliged to give way, and turn his attention to arranging the
rooms, in a style of what he considered, surpassing elegance and
comfort.
They were plain and simple, with fresh boarded walls and pine floors.
The furniture had all been brought from the great house, chosen by
Volodia with very little idea of its suitability, but because of
something in the colour or form that struck him as being particularly
handsome.
A large gilt console table, with marble top, and looking glass, took
up nearly one side of Elena's bedroom; and a glass chandelier hung
from the centre of the ceiling--where it was always interfering with
the heads of the unwary. The bed had faded blue satin hangings; and a
large Turkish rug and two ricketty gilt chairs, completed an effect
which Uncle Volodia and his wife considered to be truly magnificent.
Boris slept in the room adjoining.
This was turned into a sitting-room in the daytime, and furnished in
the same luxurious manner. Chairs with enormous coats-of-arms, a vast
Dresden china vase with a gilt cover to it; and in the corner a gold
picture of a Saint with a little lamp before it, always kept burning
night and day by the careful Var-Vara--Var-Vara in her bright red
gold-bordered gown, and the strange tiara on her head, decorated with
its long ribbons.
"If ever they wanted the help of the Saints, it's now," she would say,
as she filled the glass bowl with oil, and hung it up by its chains
again. "The wickedness of men has been too much for them. Aïe! Aïe!
It's the Lord's will."