In a moment the three lively whips had hidden themselves in the whistle.  And there was the cross old woman, kissing his hand and promising never to scold any more.

“That’s all right,” says the old man; and he fetched the sneezing goat out of the bushes and made it sneeze a little gold, just to be sure that it was that goat and no other.  Then he laid the tablecloth on the table and told it to turn inside out.  Up it flew, and came down again with the best dinner that ever was cooked, only waiting to be eaten.  And the old man and the old woman sat down and ate till they could eat no more.  The old woman rubbed herself now and again.  And the old man rubbed himself too.  But there was never a cross word between them, and they went to bed singing like nightingales.

“Is that the end?” Maroosia always asked.

“Is that all?” asked Vanya, though he knew it was not.

“Not quite,” said old Peter; “but the tale won’t go any quicker than my old tongue.”

In the morning the old woman had forgotten about her promise.  And just from habit, she set about scolding the old man as if the whips had never jumped out of the whistle.  She scolded him for sleeping too long, sent him upstairs, with a lot of cross words after him, to go to the top of the dovecot to see how those turnips were getting on.

After a little the old man came down.

“The turnips are coming on grandly,” says he, “and not a single one has gone in the night.  I told you the children said they would not steal any more.”

“I don’t believe you,” said the old woman.  “I’ll see for myself.  And if any are gone, you shall pay for it, and pay for it well.”

Up she jumped, and tried to climb the stairs.  But the stairs were narrow and steep and twisting.  She tried and tried, and could not get up at all.  So she gets angrier than ever, and starts scolding the old man again.

“You must carry me up,” says she.

“I have to hold on with both hands, or I couldn’t get up myself,” says the old man.

“I’ll get in the flour sack, and you must carry me up with your teeth,” says she; “they’re strong enough.”

And the old woman got into the flour sack.

“Don’t ask me any questions,” says the old man; and he took the sack in his teeth and began slowly climbing up the stairs, holding on with both hands.

He climbed and climbed, but he did not climb fast enough for the old woman.

“Are we at the top?” says she.

The old man said nothing, but went on, climbing up and up, nearly dead with the weight of the old woman in the sack which he was holding in his teeth.

He climbed a little further, and the old woman screamed out,—­

“Are we at the top now?  We must be at the top.  Let me out, you old fool!”

The old man said nothing; he climbed on and on.

The old woman raged in the flour sack.  She jumped about in the sack, and screamed at the old man,—­