At every stop where there was a playground--there was not one at every station--he would run out and have a swing, his mother going with him, for he was a little boy to be among strangers. After a while he was hungry, and then his mother unpacked her basket and set the samovar a-going, and gave a lump of bread and a big piece of sausage to each, with unlimited cups of scalding tea that made them nice and warm. After that the little boy leaned his head against his mother, and then--most wonderful!--they were already at the capital, and the stars were shining. Where had the afternoon gone? He had not time to ask, for his father had swung him upon his shoulder and was carrying him through the crowd, and there, outside the wicket, was a little old woman, with such a nice face, who fell upon his mother's neck and kissed her again and again. "That is your other grandmother," said his father. "Your mother has not seen her since she was married, and that is many years ago." And then the other grandmother caught the little boy from his father's arms and kissed him and cried over him, till the little boy did not know whether he ought to cry or not. He became very well acquainted with the other grandmother the next day. She did not seem like his own dear little grandmother at home, but she was very nice. He called her mother's-mother, because she was not his real grandmother, he thought; and the other grandmother laughed and said that would do very well. In the afternoon, when his father had gone back to the zemstvo, and his mother was clearing up after dinner, which she said her mother was not to do while she was there, the little boy went and stood by his other grandmother's chair. "Mother's-mother," he said, "little grandmamma told me that you knew some nice stories." "Yes," said mother's-mother, "I suppose I do. They are not like your little grandmamma's stories. The stories of this commune are different. They are more about the Vilas than those of your commune are. Yours are mostly about Reinecke and the other beasts, are they not?" "I like Reinecke and the beasts," said the little boy. "But I should like the Vilas, too, mother's-mother." "Then I will tell you about them," said the other grandmother. "Sit down on that stool--it was your mother's when she was a little girl. That is right. Now I will tell you about "THE VILA OF MUHLENBERG" Once upon a time there was an aged widow who had only one son, whom she watched and cherished in her old age. Now there was a great war at that time all over the world; every man who could bear arms was forced to go into the army, and among others the widow's son. There he so distinguished himself for bravery on every occasion that he was promoted to be Captain.