"We shall certainly get ten rubles for it," said David, turning the telescope over. "I will buy it of you; and here are fifteen kopecks for the apothecary: is it enough?" "I will borrow them of you," whispered Raissa, taking the fifteen kopecks. "Yes, indeed; with interest, perhaps? I have a pledge--a very heavy one. These English are a great people." "And yet people say we are going to war with them." "No," answered David: "now we are threatening the French." "Well, you know best. Don't forget. Good-bye!" XIV. One more conversation which I heard at the hedge. Raissa seemed more than usually troubled. "Five kopecks for the very smallest head of cabbage!" she said, supporting her head on her hand. "Oh, how dear! and I have no money from my sewing!" "Who owes you any?" asked David. "The shopkeeper's wife, who lives behind the city wall." "That fat woman who always wears a green sontag?" "Yes." "How fat she is!--too fat to breathe. She lights plenty of candles in church, but she won't pay her debts." "Oh, she'll pay them--but when? And then, David, I have other troubles. My father has begun to narrate his dreams; and you know what trouble he had with his tongue--how he tried to say one word and uttered another. About his food and things around the house we have got used to understanding him, but even ordinary people's dreams can't be understood; and you may judge what his are. He said, 'I am very glad. I was walking to-day with the white birds, and the Lord handed me a bouquet, and in the bouquet was Andruscha with a little knife.'--He always calls my little sister Andruscha.--'Now we shall both get well: we only need a little knife, and just one cut. That's the way.' And he pointed to his own throat. I didn't understand him, but I said, 'All right, father!' but he grew angry and tried to explain what he meant. At last he burst into tears." "Yes, but you ought to have made up something--told him some trifling lie," I interrupted. "I can't lie," answered Raissa, raising her hands. True, thought I to myself, _she_ cannot lie. "There's no need of lying," said David, "nor is there any need of your killing yourself in this way. Do you suppose any one will thank you for it?" Raissa looked at him: "What I wanted to ask you, David, was how do you spell _should_?" "What?--_should_?" "Yes, for instance, 'Should you like to live?'" "Oh!---_s-h-o-u-d_?" "No," I interrupted again, "that's not right: not _o-u-d_, but _o-u-l-d_" "Well, it's all the same," said David: "spell it with an _l_. The most important thing is that you should live yourself." "I wish I knew how to spell and write properly," said Raissa, blushing slightly. When she blushed she became at once amazingly pretty. "It may be of use. Father in his time wrote a beautiful hand: he taught me it, too. Now he can hardly scrawl the letters."