Anyútka. Grandfather, I remember how father died. You were not living at our house then. He called up Nikíta and said: "Forgive me," says he, "Nikíta!" and he burst out crying. (Sighing.) It was such a pity to see him.
Mítrich. Yes, that's so.
Anyútka. Grandfather, O grandfather! There is again a noise in the cellar. Oh, my dear! Oh, grandfather, they are doing something to the baby. It is such a tiny one. Oh, oh! (Covers up her head and weeps.)
Mítrich (listening). Yes, they are up to something bad. Those women are a bad lot. You can't say much good of the men, but the women—they are like wild beasts. They fear nothing.
Anyútka (rising). Grandfather, O grandfather!
Mítrich. Well, what is it?
Anyútka. The other day a wanderer stopped here overnight. He said that if a baby died its little soul went straight to heaven. Is it true?
Mítrich. I don't know. I suppose it does. Why?
Anyútka. I should like to die. (Sobbing.)
Mítrich. If you die you don't count.
Anyútka. Up to ten years you are a child, and your soul may go to God. After that you get spoiled.
Mítrich. I should say you do! How can you women help spoiling? Who teaches you? What do you see? What do you hear? Nothing but badness. I have not learned much, but I know at least something, not like a village woman. What is a village woman? Nothing but dirt. There are many millions of you women in Russia, but you are as blind as moles,—you know nothing. All you know is how to fan off a cow's death, and all kinds of enchantments, and how to take children to a sitting hen.
Anyútka. Mamma has taken me there, too.
Mítrich. Precisely, that's it. There are millions of you women and girls, but you are all like the beasts
