"I am looking for strawberries," answered she.
"This is not the season for them," returned January, in his gruff voice; "there are no strawberries under the snow."
"I know it," replied Dobrunka sadly; "but my mother and sister will beat me to a jelly if I do not bring them some. My good sirs, please tell me where I can find them."
Old January rose, and, turning to a man in a golden mantle, he put his staff in his hand, saying, "Brother June, this is your business."
June rose in turn and stirred the fire with the staff, when behold! the flames rose, the snow melted, the earth grew green, the trees were covered with leaves, the birds sang, and the flowers opened—it was summer. Thousands of little white stars enameled the turf, then turned to red strawberries, looking, in their green cups, like rubies set in emeralds.
"Make haste, my child, and gather your strawberries," said June.
Dobrunka filled her apron, thanked the Twelve Months, and joyfully ran home. You may imagine the astonishment of Katinka and the stepmother. The fragrance of the strawberries filled the whole house.
"Where did you find these fine things?" asked Katinka, in a disdainful voice.
"Up yonder on the mountain," answered her sister; "there were so many of them that they looked like blood poured on the ground."
Katinka and her mother devoured the strawberries without even thanking the poor child.