Now it was winter-time, and out of doors was a rattling frost. Early in the morning, between daybreak and sunrise, the old man harnessed the mare to the sledge, and led it up to the steps. Then he went indoors, sat down on the window-sill, and said:
“Now then, I’ve got everything ready.”
“Sit down to table and swallow your victuals!” replied the old woman.
The old man sat down to table, and made his daughter sit by his side. On the table stood a pannier; he took out a loaf, and cut bread for himself and his daughter. Meantime his wife served up a dish of old cabbage soup, and said:
“There, my pigeon, eat and be off; I’ve looked at you quite enough! Drive Marfa to her bridegroom, old man. And look here, old greybeard, drive straight along the road at first, and then turn off from the road to the right, you know, into the forest—right up to the big pine that stands on the hill, and there hand Marfa over to Frost.”
The old man opened his eyes wide, also his mouth, and stopped eating, and the girl began lamenting.
“Now then, what are you hanging your chaps and squealing about?” said her stepmother. “Surely your bridegroom is a beauty, and he’s that rich! Why, just see what a lot of things belong to him: the firs, the pine-tops, and the birches, all in their robes of down—ways and means that any one might envy; and he himself a bogatir, a hero of romance!”
The old man silently placed the things on the sledge, made his daughter put on a warm pelisse, and set off on the journey. After a time he reached the forest, turned off from the road, and drove across the frozen snow. When he got into the depths of the forest he stopped, made his daughter get out, laid her basket under the tall pine, and said:
