grandmother said it was time I found a husband.

Accordingly she went next door, where lived a woman with five sons. They were all out except one, and he had a sore leg. She brought him to me, and I cried very bitterly. He also. His name was Ivan, and I wished it had been Peter.

The next day we were betrothed, and all our friends came to eat the feast that my grandmother provided. A school-fellow of mine, a very beautiful girl, was angry because I had a husband and not she. She scratched my face, and the blood ran on to my dress. Our friends congratulated us, and when they had gone my grandmother said it had been a great success. She and I finished what was left of the feast and went to bed. I remember that my feet were very cold, and when I fell asleep I dreamed that my betrothed's name was Peter. When I awoke I cried very loud, and my grandmother slapped my cheeks.

Shortly afterwards she died, and I went to live with my uncle, who was a pawnbroker in Moscow.

THE LONG-FACED CHUMS.