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happened one night that she awoke, hearing a
peculiar smacking sound from the corner where
Fekluscha was sleeping. A suspicion flashed
upon her; she stretched out her hand carefully,
struck a match and lighted her candle. And
what did she see? There was Fekluscha
crouching on the rug, with a large jam-pot between her
knees, gobbling the jam as fast as she could with
a crust of bread.
It must be noticed that a few days previously
the housekeeper had complained that a pot of
jam had disappeared from her cupboard.
To rush out of her bed and seize the girl’s
hair was the affair of seconds.
‘Have I caught you at last, you wretched
thief! Where have you got that jam? Can’t
you tell!’ She seized the child and shook her
violently.
‘Oh no, Njania dear! indeed I haven’t taken
it, I assure you!’ Fekluscha screamed. ‘Maria
Vasiljevna gave me the pot last night, but she
said I wasn’t to let you see it.’
But Njania had her great doubts as to this
statement. ‘I don’t think you are clever at
lying,’ she said contemptuously, ‘why should
Maria Vasiljevna think of giving you jam ?’
‘Oh dear, dear Njania, it isn’t a lie! I swear
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