As luck would have it, a moujik was standing behind the tree, and he fetched the Wolf a blow on the head with his axe. Then Isegrim cried out with his last breath, "Well, I vow, on this blessed day one can't even talk to himself without being made sorry for it!" The little boy was thoughtful for a few minutes. "Did you know that Wolf, little grandma?" he asked at length. "No, not I," replied the grandmother; "it was my great-great-grandmother who knew him." CHAPTER II THE MOTHER'S FÊTE-DAY It was the fête-day of the little boy's mother, and she was dressed in the beautiful clothes that had been her mother's and her grandmother's festival clothes. Her gown, which she called her sarafam, was of a lovely light-blue stuff, and on her head she wore a diadem of gold, all studded with little pearls. Many of the village people came to kiss the baboushka's hand and to bring her gifts, so that the house was quite crowded with people drinking coffee and talking loudly. When the baboushka went to church to offer thanks she put on her long fur-trimmed chougaii (we should call it a coat), and over that a thick, wadded duchegreika, or hug-me-tight. It was a cold day, and she was not too warmly clothed, but if her fête-day had come in the heat of summer she would have worn these things just the same. The little boy went to church with his mother, and when they came back he was very hungry. But the feast-table was not yet spread, for the starosta and the older children were still in the fields pulling stubble. The grandmother was not in the fields, for the day was too cold, so the little boy went into her room. She had on her festival clothes in honor of the feast, but she was spinning as usual and humming a little song. "I'm so hungry, grandmother," said the little boy. "Would you spoil the feast by eating now?" asked the grandmother. "The best way is to forget all about being hungry till the feast begins." "How can I forget?" asked the little boy. "My mouth cries 'food!'" "If little grandmother puts a story in your ears will your mouth cease crying?" asked the grandmother. "Oh, yes, yes!" cried the little boy. So grandmother told the story of THE SICK LION Once upon a time a Lion lay sick in his den. Master Petz, the Bear, called to pay his respects; whereupon the Lion thus spoke: "Dear Bruin, tell me the honest truth--is it, or is it not very close in this den?" "Yes, indeed!" replied Petz, "it does smell horribly here." Upon this the Lion flew into a rage and tore the Bear into a thousand pieces. Lampe, the Hare, was standing near the door of the den, and observed this mishap. Tremblingly he approached the Lion, who asked him, "Tell me, dear Lampe, is it not close in my den?" "Oh, dear, no!" replied the Hare; "why should it be close? On the contrary, the air seems to me delightfully fresh."