"That's according. One day you will have a fare for three roubles, and another day you will come back to the yard without a farthing. The days are very different. Nowadays our business is no good. There are lots and lots of cabmen as you know, hay is dear, and folks are paltry nowadays and always contriving to go by tram. And yet, thank God, I have nothing to complain of. I have plenty to eat and good clothes to wear, and . . . we could even provide well for another. . ." (the cabman stole a glance at Pelageya) "if it were to their liking. . . ." Grisha did not hear what was said further. His mamma came to the door and sent him to the nursery to learn his lessons. "Go and learn your lesson. It's not your business to listen here!" When Grisha reached the nursery, he put "My Own Book" in front of him, but he did not get on with his reading. All that he had just seen and heard aroused a multitude of questions in his mind. "The cook's going to be married," he thought. "Strange--I don't understand what people get married for. Mamma was married to papa, Cousin Verotchka to Pavel Andreyitch. But one might be married to papa and Pavel Andreyitch after all: they have gold watch-chains and nice suits, their boots are always polished; but to marry that dreadful cabman with a red nose and felt boots. . . . Fi! And why is it nurse wants poor Pelageya to be married?" When the visitor had gone out of the kitchen, Pelageya appeared and began clearing away. Her agitation still persisted. Her face was red and looked scared. She scarcely touched the floor with the broom, and swept every corner five times over. She lingered for a long time in the room where mamma was sitting. She was evidently oppressed by her isolation, and she was longing to express herself, to share her impressions with some one, to open her heart. "He's gone," she muttered, seeing that mamma would not begin the conversation. "One can see he is a good man," said mamma, not taking her eyes off her sewing. "Sober and steady." "I declare I won't marry him, mistress!" Pelageya cried suddenly, flushing crimson. "I declare I won't!" "Don't be silly; you are not a child. It's a serious step; you must think it over thoroughly, it's no use talking nonsense. Do you like him?" "What an idea, mistress!" cried Pelageya, abashed. "They say such things that . . . my goodness. . . ." "She should say she doesn't like him!" thought Grisha. "What an affected creature you are. . . . Do you like him?" "But he is old, mistress!" "Think of something else," nurse flew out at her from the next room. "He has not reached his fortieth year; and what do you want a young man for? Handsome is as handsome does. . . . Marry him and that's all about it!" "I swear I won't," squealed Pelageya.