"Now then, old man, harness the mare to the sledge, and put new hay in
the sledge to be warm for my little ones, and lay fresh rushes on the
hay to be soft for them; and take warm rugs with you, for maybe they
will be cold, even in their furs. And look sharp about it, and don't
keep them waiting. The frost is hard this morning, and it was harder
in the night."
The old man had not time to eat even a mouthful of black bread before
she had driven him out into the snow. He put hay and rushes and soft
blankets in the sledge, and harnessed the mare, and went off to the
forest. He came to the great fir, and found the two girls sitting
under it dead, with their anger still to be seen on their frozen, ugly
faces.
He picked them up, first one and then the other, and put them in the
rushes and the warm hay, covered them with the blankets, and drove
home.
The old woman saw him coming, far away, over the shining snow. She ran
to meet him, and shouted out,--
"Where are the little ones?"
"In the sledge."
She snatched off the blankets and pulled aside the rushes, and found
the bodies of her two cross daughters.
Instantly she flew at the old man in a storm of rage. "What have you
done to my children, my little red cherries, my little pigeons? I will
kill you with the oven fork! I will break your head with the poker!"
The old man listened till she was out of breath and could not say
another word. That, my dears, is the only wise thing to do when a
woman is in a scolding rage. And as soon as she had no breath left
with which to answer him, he said,--
"My little daughter got riches for soft words, but yours were always
rough of the tongue. And it's not my fault, anyhow, for you yourself
sent them into the forest."
Well, at last the old woman got her breath again, and scolded away
till she was tired out. But in the end she made her peace with the old
man, and they lived together as quietly as could be expected.
As for Martha, Fedor Ivanovitch sought her in marriage, as he had
meant to do all along--yes, and married her; and pretty she looked in
the furs that Frost had given her. I was at the feast, and drank beer
and mead with the rest. And she had the prettiest children that ever
were seen--yes, and the best behaved. For if ever they thought of
being naughty, the old grandfather told them the story of crackling
Frost, and how kind words won kindness, and cross words cold
treatment. And now, listen to Frost. Hear how he crackles away! And
mind, if ever he asks you if you are warm, be as polite to him as you
can. And to do that, the best way is to be good always, like little
Martha. Then it comes easy.
* * * * *
The children listened, and laughed quietly, because they knew they
were good. Away in the forest they heard Frost, and thought of him
crackling and leaping from one tree to another. And just then they
came home. It was dusk, for dusk comes early in winter, and a little
way through the trees before them they saw the lamp of their hut
glittering on the snow. The big dog barked and ran forward, and the
children with him. The soup was warm on the stove, and in a few
minutes they were sitting at the table, Vanya, Maroosia, and old
Peter, blowing at their steaming spoons.