Maria was rather constrained on these occasions, seeming oppressed with the feeling that she must sit exactly in the centre of her chair. She spread a large clean handkerchief out over her knees, to catch any crumbs that might be wandering, and fixed her eyes on the children with respectful solemnity.
Volodia, on the contrary, always came in smiling genially, in his old homespun blouse and high boots; and was ready for a game with Daria, or a romp with Boris, the moment the tea things had been carried away by his wife.
"What is it, Elena Andreïevna?" he asked. "Nothing very serious, I hope?"
"Not very, Uncle Volodia. It's only that I want to learn something—I want to feel I can do something when our money has gone, for I know it won't last very long."
"Why trouble your head about business, Elena Andreïevna? You know your things sold for a great deal, and it is all put away in the wooden honey-box, in the clothes chest. It will last till you're an old woman!"
"But I would like to feel I was earning some money, Uncle Volodia. I think I might learn to make paper flowers. Don't you think so, dear Uncle Volodia? You know I began while mamma was with us; the lady in Mourum taught me. I wish very much to go on with it."
Uncle Volodia pondered. It might be an amusement for the poor girl, and no one need know of the crazy notion of selling them.
"If you like, Matoushka. Do just as you like," he said.
So it was decided that Elena should be driven over to Mourum on the next market day.
Volodia had undertaken, in the intervals of shop-keeping, to teach little Daria how to count; with the elaborate arrangement of small coloured balls, on a wire frame like a gridiron, with which he added up his own sums—instead of pencil and paper.