The next morning Elena and Boris awoke with a delightful feeling of
expectation.
It seemed impossible to realize that their father had really come back
to them, and that he was dearer and kinder than anything they had
imagined!
"If only mamma were here," sighed Elena, "_how_ happy we should be!"
"Perhaps she knows," said Boris soberly. "She always told us papa was
a hero, and I'm sure he looks like one."
André Olsheffsky felt his wife's loss deeply. The children were his
only comfort, and every moment he could spare from his business
affairs he gave to them.
With Elena he discussed their position seriously.
It would be impossible, he said, to prove their claim to Madame
Olsheffsky's estate unless the lost box could be recovered, but if
that were ever found the papers inside would completely establish
their right. "I have sent notices to all the peasants, describing the
box, and offering a reward. Who knows, Elena? it _may_ be discovered!"
Time passed on, and though Mr. Olsheffsky made many expeditions into
the town of Mourum, and drove all round the country, making enquiries
of the peasants, he could hear nothing of the wooden box.
"It's one of the secrets of the lake," said Volodia. "That's my
opinion; it's lying snugly at the bottom there; and it's no good
looking for it anywhere else."
But Mr. Olsheffsky continued his enquiries.
One day, just as Daria and Var-Vara were about to start for a morning
walk--Elena and Boris having gone for a drive with their father--an
old man in a rough sheep-skin coat and plaited bark shoes came up to
the house door, and taking off his high felt hat respectfully, asked
if he could speak to the _Barin_.[D]
[D] Master.
"The master has gone out," said Var-Vara, "but I daresay you can see
him in the afternoon. Have you anything particular to ask him?"
"Nothing to ask, but something to show," and the old man blinked his
eyes cunningly.
"Not the wooden box!" screamed Daria. "Oh, let's go at once! Come,
Var-Vara! _What_ a surprise for papa when he gets back! _Is_ it the
wooden box? You might tell me," cried Daria, fixing her blue eyes on
the old _mujik_'s face pleadingly.
"It may be, and it mayn't be," replied the old man. "You may come
along with me if you like, Daria Andreïevna. I'll show you the way to
where I live--near the forest, you know. Of course, I've heard all
about the reward," he continued, "and as I was clearing a bit of my
yard this morning, what should I find but a heap of something
hard--pebbles, and drift, and sticks, and such like. When I came to
sorting it out--for I thought, 'Why waste good wood, when you can burn
it? the good God doesn't like waste'--I struck against the corner of
something hard, and there was a----. Well, what do you think, Daria
Andreïevna?"
"A box! A box!" cried Daria, seizing one of the old man's hands, and
dancing round him in an ecstasy of delight.
"Not at all, Daria Andreïevna! The legs of an old chair."
Daria's face fell. "I don't see why you come to tell papa you've found
an old chair!" she said crossly.
"Stop a bit, _Matoushka_. There's more to come. Where was I?"
"The chair! You'd just found it," said Daria, pulling at his hand
impatiently.
"So I had. A chair! Well, it had no back, and as I pulled it out it
felt heavy, very heavy. It wasn't much to look at--a poor chair I
should call it--and I thought, '_This_ isn't much of a find;' but
there inside it was something sticking as tight as wax!"
"The box!" cried Daria, "I felt sure of it!" and seizing Var-Vara by
one hand, and the _mujik_ by the other, she dragged them down the
street, the old peasant remonstrating and grumbling.
"Not so fast, Daria Andreïevna!" said Var-Vara, gasping for breath at
the sudden rush. "Let Ivan go first; he knows the way!"
Daria could scarcely control her impatience during the walk.
"Make haste, Var-Vara! we shall never get there," she kept crying; and
old Var-Vara, who was stout, and had on a heavy fur pelisse, arrived
at the hut in a state of breathless exhaustion.
"Aïe! Aïe! what a child it is! Show her the box now, Ivan, or we shall
have no peace."
Ivan went to the corner of his hut, where a large object stood on the
top of the whitewashed stove under a red and yellow pocket-handkerchief.
He carefully uncovered it, and stepping back a few paces said proudly,
"What do you think of _that_, now?"
It was the box, safe and unhurt, Madame Olsheffsky's name still on it
in scratched white letters.
Daria was wild with joy, and almost alarmed Ivan with her excitement.
She danced about the room, threw her arms round his neck, and finally
persuaded him to carry the box to Volodia's house, so that it might be
there as a delightful surprise to her father on his return.