NAN. There now, daddy, and I remember when father was dying,--you were not living with us then. Well, he called Nikíta and says, "Forgive me, Nikíta!" he says, and begins to cry. [Sighs] That also felt very sad! MÍTRITCH. Yes; there now, so it is ... NAN. Daddy! Daddy, I say! There they are again, making a noise in the cellar! Oh gracious heavens! Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh, daddy! They'll do something to it! They'll make away with it, and it's so little! Oh, oh! [Covers up her head and cries]. MÍTRITCH [listening] Really they're up to some villainy, blow them to shivers! Oh, these women are vile creatures! One can't say much for men either; but women!... They are like wild beasts, and stick at nothing! NAN [rising] Daddy; I say, daddy! MÍTRITCH. Well, what now? NAN. The other day a traveller stayed the night; he said that when an infant died its soul goes up straight to heaven. Is that true? MÍTRITCH. Who can tell. I suppose so. Well? NAN. Oh, it would be best if I died too. [Whimpers]. MÍTRITCH. Then you'd be off the list! NAN. Up to ten one's an infant, and maybe one's soul would go to God. Else one's sure to go to the bad! MÍTRITCH. And how to the bad? How should the likes of you not go to the bad? Who teaches you? What do you see? What do you hear? Only vileness! I, though I've not been taught much, still know a thing or two. I'm not quite like a peasant woman. A peasant woman, what is she? Just mud! There are many millions of the likes of you in Russia, and all as blind as moles--knowing nothing! All sorts of spells: how to stop the cattle-plague with a plough, and how to cure children by putting them under the perches in the hen-house! That's what they know! NAN. Yes, mother also did that! MÍTRITCH. Yes,--there it is,--just so! So many millions of girls and women, and all like beasts in a forest! As she grows up, so she dies! Never sees anything; never hears anything. A peasant,--he may learn something at the pub, or maybe in prison, or in the army,--as I did. But a woman? Let alone about God, she doesn't even know rightly what Friday it is! Friday! Friday! But ask her what's Friday? She don't know! They're like blind puppies, creeping about and poking their noses into the dung-heap.... All they know are their silly songs. Ho, ho, ho, ho! But what they mean by ho-ho, they don't know themselves! NAN. But I, daddy, I do know half the Lord's Prayer! MÍTRITCH. A lot you know! But what can one expect of you? Who teaches you? Only a tipsy peasant--with the strap perhaps! That's all the teaching you get! I don't know who'll have to answer for you. For a recruit, the drill-sergeant or the corporal has to answer; but for the likes of you there's no one responsible! Just as the cattle that have no herdsman are the most mischievous, so with you women--you are the stupidest class! The most foolish class is yours! NAN. Then what's one to do? MÍTRITCH. That's what one has to do.... You just cover up your head and sleep! Oh Lord!