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Updated: June 27, 2025
But he went down on his hands and knees and drank that water, that little drop of clear water, to cool his burning throat. And he had no sooner drunk it than he had turned into a little lamb... "A little white lamb," said Maroosia. "With a black nose," said Vanya.
There was once an old peasant, and he must have had more brains under his hair than ever I had, for he was a merchant, and used to take things every year to sell at the big fair of Nijni Novgorod. Well, I could never do that. I could never be anything better than an old forester. "Never mind, grandfather," said Maroosia.
God knows best, and He makes some merchants and some foresters, and some good and some bad, all in His own way. Anyhow this one was a merchant, and he had three daughters. They were none of them so bad to look at, but one of them was as pretty as Maroosia. And she was the best of them too.
Old Peter hurried into the church, followed by Fedor with Vanya and Maroosia. They all crossed themselves and said a prayer as they went in. The ceremony was just beginning.
Maroosia and Vanya could hardly remember them, and they were very happy with old Peter, who was very kind to them and did all he could to keep them warm and well fed. He let them help him in everything, even in stuffing the windows with moss to keep the cold out when winter began. The moss kept the light out too, but that did not matter.
He fished and fished, and many were the fish that he caught, and of many kinds; but never again did he catch another golden fish that could talk like a human being. I doubt whether he would have said anything to his wife about it, even if he had caught one every day. "What a horrid old woman!" said Maroosia. "I wonder the old fisherman forgave her," said Ivan.
Till we meet again," he cried out merrily to the villagers; and Vanya and Maroosia waved their hands, and off they drove, back again to the hut in the forest. They were very much quieter on the way back than they had been when they drove to the village in the morning. And the early summer day was quiet as it came to its end.
That night, when it was story-time, Ivan and Maroosia consulted together; and when old Peter asked what the story was to be, they were ready with an answer. "The snow is all melting away," said Ivan. "The summer is coming," said Maroosia. "We'd like the tale of the little snow girl," said Ivan. "'The Little Daughter of the Snow," said Maroosia.
"I have to go, and I suppose there'll be room in the cart for two little bear cubs like you." And so it was settled that Vanya and Maroosia were to go to the christening of their new cousin, who was only twelve hours old.
To my motherkin I go Little daughter of the Snow." And just then the door blew open from the yard, and a cold wind filled the room, and the little daughter of the Snow was gone. "You always used to say something else, grandfather," said Maroosia. Old Peter patted her head, and went on. "I haven't forgotten.
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