CHAPTER IV
THE FIRE OF SHAVINGS
The snow had fallen heavily, and some of the sheep were missing. The two moujiks put on their warm sheepskin clothes and went to look for them, taking Watch, the sheep-dog, with them. The starosta sat in the house, making a plough-handle out of a tree-branch which he had cut down one day long ago because he saw it was the right shape for a plough-handle in case he should ever need a new one. The little boy gathered up the shavings that fell from under the long, two-handled knife. He played with them until he was tired of them, and then he gathered them all in the skirt of his shirt and carried them to his grandmother’s room.
“I have brought you some shavings to make you warm, grandmother,” he said.
His grandmother opened the stove-door, where the fire was smouldering, carefully covered up, for fuel is dear. The little boy put his shavings in, one by one, and watched them as they slowly caught fire and broke into a blaze. When they were all burned up he went and stood by his grandmother.
“Did they make you warm, little grandma?” he asked.
“Nice and warm,” answered the grandmother. “Now, what can I do for you in thanks?”
“A story, a story!” cried the little boy, climbing upon the stove to be comfortable. And the grandmother told the story of