"My dear Dorothy," complained Mistress Anichka, "last night, at twelve o'clock, Yanechek frightened us dreadfully."
And thus it was day after day: "Gossip Dorothy, Shepherdess Dorothy, My dear Dorothy," and day after day Dorothy shed tears over her troubles.
"Why don't you correct the boy?" suggested the shepherdess's brother.
But Dorothy was afraid to whip her mischievous son, because that would make him cry; and the boy, knowing his mother's weakness, did as he pleased without fear. In his mischief he did not consider his mother's feelings in the least. He would chase the goats up the steepest rocks, while his mother, Dorothy, standing at the bottom, would scream, "Come down, Yanechek!" at the top of her voice, her heart ready to break with fear. But Yanechek would climb to the very top, then seize the thin branches of a bush with his right hand and bend his whole body forward, so that it appeared as if he were suspended in the air, or upon the point of falling down to cut himself to pieces on the sharp rocks beneath. At this sight his poor mother Dorothy would be seized with a fainting fit, and crying, "Heaven help me!" would fall senseless to the ground. Then, as the poor shepherdess began to recover from her swoon, the wicked Yanechek would hold her in his arms, crying,—
