They sat down side by side with the utmost gravity. Old Volodia with the frame in one hand, Daria on a low stool, her curly golden head bent forward over the balls, as she moved them up and down, with a pucker on her forehead.
"Two and one's five, and three's seven, and four's twelve, and six's——"
"Oh, Daria Andreïevna! You're not thinking about what you're doing!"
"Oh, really I am, Uncle Volodia; but those tiresome little yellow balls keep getting in the way."
And then the lesson began all over again, until Daria sprang up with a laugh, and shaking out her black frock, declared she had a pain in her neck, and must run about a little!
"What a child it is!" cried Volodia admiringly. "If she lives to be a hundred, she'll never learn the multiplication table!"
CHAPTER VII.
A post-sledge was gliding rapidly over the frozen road towards Viletna; and as it neared the village, a thin worn man, with white hair, who was sitting in it alone, leant forward and touched the driver.
"I want to go to the great house. You remember?"