nurse fedosya, sitting in the kitchen that evening, was telling the silent housemaid darya and the talkative old cook agathya about the young lady of the house, and how the child loved to play priatki with her mother—“she hides her little face, and cries ‘tiutiu’!”

“and the mistress herself is like a little one,” added fedosya, smiling.

agathya listened and shook her head ominously; while her face became grave and reproachful.

“that the mistress does it, well, that’s one thing; but that the young lady does it, that’s bad.”

“why?” asked fedosya with curiosity.

this expression of curiosity gave her face the look of a wooden, roughly-painted doll.

“yes, that’s bad,” repeated agathya with conviction. “terribly bad!”

“well?” said fedosya, the ludicrous expression of curiosity on her face becoming more emphatic.

“she’ll hide, and hide, and hide away,” said agathya, in a mysterious whisper, as she looked cautiously toward the door.

“what are you saying?” exclaimed fedosya, frightened.

“it’s the truth i’m saying, remember my words,” agathya went on with the same assurance and secrecy. “it’s the surest sign.”

the old woman had invented this sign, quite suddenly, herself; and she was evidently very proud of it.