"You lie!" retorted the Lion, in high dudgeon; "it is not delightfully fresh; on the contrary, it is disgustingly close," and he tore the Hare limb from limb. Isegrim, the Wolf, saw and heard all this, for he was standing near the door of the den. He stepped in, and bowed low before the Lion, who immediately put the same question to him, "See here, Isegrim, tell me truly and honestly, is it close in my den or not?" "Neither, sire!" replied the obsequious Wolf. "Oh, you good-for-nothing liar!" roared the Lion, "it must be either one or the other; either it is close or it is not," and he seized him and tore him to pieces. Reinecke, the Fox, was looking in from outside, and now he drew near to pay his respects. So the Lion asked him, "See here, Master Reinecke, do you tell me now, is it close in my den or not?" "Pardon me, august monarch," replied Reinecke very humbly, "but by all I hold blessed I am not able to tell you, for I have taken such a cold that, upon honor, I cannot smell. But I do hate a lie from the bottom of my heart." And the Lion spared Reinecke's life because he had such a clever wit. "Will the Báby and the little boy graciously come to supper?" asked the cow-herd woman, opening the door. "The gracious baboushka's feast is ready." So the little boy and his grandmother, whom they call the Báby in Russia, gayly went in to the feast. CHAPTER III SATURDAY AFTERNOON It was Saturday afternoon, and the little boy had been with his mother to the village vapor-bath. After that he had been dressed in his Sunday clothes. His white shirt, which he called his roubachka, hung outside of his best portki, or loose, colored trousers. His legs were wound round with many bands of colored cloth, called onontchi, and on his feet he wore bachmaki, or shoes. When he grew to be a man he would wear very high, large-topped sapoghi, with his trousers tucked into them, like his father, and then he would not need onontchi on his legs. But he was only a little boy yet. The popod'ya had come to call on his mother. She was the priest's wife, and was very old, and the little boy did not care for what she and his mother were talking about. So he stole away into his grandmother's room. The grandmother was kneeling before the ikon, the sacred picture of the Virgin and Child, which hung on the wall with a tiny lamp lighted before it. The little boy would not disturb his grandmother while she was saying her Saturday evening prayer, but he hoped she would not be long. Perhaps she was almost through, for presently she rose from her knees, lifting herself by her stick. The little boy ran to help her, and led her to the stove. She sat down upon it, for her knees were cold from the clay floor, and the little boy climbed up beside her. "Now the work is all done, little grandma," he said, putting his hands on either side of her face, "and you can tell me a long story, can't you?"