'Will the physician come?' exclaimed the old woman. 'You are indeed like an innocent child, Nikítich.[2] Will the physician come to such a dirty place?'
'And why should he not come? One will not come, another will not come, but some one perhaps will come at last. There, I know a physician, Kótov, a nice gentleman! He always gives me a glass of tea and five copecks. He will not let me go without giving me something. "How do you do, Nikítich?" says he always to me. I tell you, go to him. Ask him; you needn't care.'
'Yes, at his home he will receive me perhaps, but he will not come here. No, we have nothing to do with physicians. I cannot afford to buy medicine, and very likely they will not even let me into the house. No, I dare not.'
'Well, if you dare not, I will go myself.'
At these words the old wounded soldier took his stick and hobbled away to the physician's.
The physician did come. He was a very good man, only he had the habit of speaking in an angry tone and even shouting, so that some were afraid of him. He examined the girl a long time, put his ear to her back and chest, tapped both with his fingers, spat in disgust, and complained angrily of the dirt and unwholesome air of the room. He ordered that nothing but broth be given to the girl, wrote a prescription on a bit of paper, and said that the medicine would be given gratuitously at the apothecary's.
In the evening the old woman brought the bottle with the medicine, poured some into a wooden spoon and presented it to her granddaughter. The girl shook her head feebly and turned away. She was afraid of the medicine; she thought it was something so disagreeable, and for nothing in the world would she take it.
'Ah me!' said her grandmother, sighing, 'why won't you take it? It's too bad! What will the physician say? He ordered it and you will not take it. Wait, you will see what will happen to disobedient children!'
The girl was frightened; she began to sob, and when her grandmother offered her the spoon, she covered her mouth with her hand and hid her face in her pillow.
In the morning the old woman took our Cup out of the oven. Oh, how glad was our Cup when the old woman, looking all over her, said to herself, 'Oh, I see it is as good as new now!' Just at this moment Mary called for her grandmother and asked for a drink. The old woman went with the newly-cemented Cup for some water, and as she held her hand over the tub, the Cup saw herself in the water as in a mirror. Alas! what did she see there? In many places were ugly cracks; the cement, applied by an unskilful hand, formed spots and patches. 'Oh,' groaned the Cup—'oh, how ugly I am! It would have been better for me to perish in the rubbish heap. Ah, now I would like to die as soon as possible!'