"Good morning to you, matushka barinya.[3] It's a fine morning, to be sure. How warm it is, by the grace of God! And you're up early, matushka barinya!"

Her words are indeed honeyed, and above in the sweet air an early, shaggy bee hovers, with a thick buzzing, tremulously golden in the clear, fluid haze of the early, gentle sun. Silent again, Stepanida is once more busy with the samovar; the disenchanted bee flies away, its buzzing growing less and less audible behind the fence.

The pungent smell of tar causes Elena Kirillovna to frown. She says:

"What makes the thing smell so strongly? You had better leave it for a while, or you will get giddy."

Stepanida, without moving, answers languidly and indifferently:

"It's nothing, barinya. We are used to it. It's but a slight smell, and it is the juniper."

Through the blue, curling smoke of juniper her swee. . . Read More