CHAPTER V.
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."