There was once an old peasant, and he must have had more brains under
his hair than ever I had, for he was a merchant, and used to take
things every year to sell at the big fair of Nijni Novgorod. Well, I
could never do that. I could never be anything better than an old
forester.
"Never mind, grandfather," said Maroosia.
God knows best, and He makes some merchants and some foresters, and
some good and some bad, all in His own way. Anyhow this one was a
merchant, and he had three daughters. They were none of them so bad to
look at, but one of them was as pretty as Maroosia. And she was the
best of them too. The others put all the hard work on her, while they
did nothing but look at themselves in the looking-glass and complain
of what they had to eat. They called the pretty one "Little Stupid,"
because she was so good and did all their work for them. Oh, they were
real bad ones, those two. We wouldn't have them in here for a minute.
Well, the time came round for the merchant to pack up and go to the
big fair. He called his daughters, and said, "Little pigeons," just as
I say to you. "Little pigeons," says he, "what would you like me to
bring you from the fair?"