slowly nearer to the hut, he thought he saw little faces looking at
him through the window and peeping through the door. He could not be
sure, because they were gone so quickly. And all the time the
chattering went on louder and louder, till the old man nearly put his
hands to his ears.

And then suddenly the chattering stopped. There was not a sound--no
noise at all. The old man stood still. A squirrel dropped a fir cone
close by, and the old man was startled by the fall of it, because
everything else was so quiet.

"Whatever there is in the hut, it won't be worse than the old woman,"
says the old man to himself. So he makes the sign of the holy Cross,
and steps up to the little hut and takes a look through the door.

There was no one to be seen. You would have thought the hut was empty.

The old man took a step inside, bending under the little low door.
Still he could see nobody, only a great heap of rags and blankets on
the sleeping-place on the top of the stove. The hut was as clean as if
it had only that minute been swept by Maroosia herself. But in the
middle of the floor there was a scrap of green leaf lying, and the old
man knew in a moment that it was a scrap of green leaf from the top of
a young turnip.

And while the old man looked at it, the heap of blankets and rugs on
the stove moved, first in one place and then in another. Then there
was a little laugh. Then another. And suddenly there was a great stir
in the blankets, and they were all thrown back helter-skelter, and
there were dozens and dozens of little queer children, laughing and