FOMINISHNA.  Now do fix it up for her, Ustinya Naumovna!  You see the girl is all worked up; and, indeed, it’s time, my dear.  Youth isn’t a bottomless kettle, and they say it gets empty.  I can say that from my own experience.  I got married when I was thirteen; but in another month she’ll have passed her nineteenth year.  Why let her pine away for nothing?  Others of her age have long since borne children.  And so, my dear, why let her pine away?

USTINYA NAUMOVNA.  I keep thinking about that myself, my jewel; but the thing isn’t held up on my account; I have a whole pack of suitors, all right.  But, confound it, she and her mother are mighty particular.

FOMINISHNA.  Why should they be particular?  Well, the chief thing is that they should be fresh-complexioned people, not bald, and not smell bad; and then anything’ll pass, so it’s a man!

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. [Sitting down] Sit down a minute, my jewel.  I have worn myself out the livelong day; from early morning I’ve been tearing around like a wet hen.  But, you see, I couldn’t neglect anything; I’m an indispensable person everywhere.  Naturally, my jewel, every person is a human being:  a man needs a wife, a girl a husband; give it to them if you have to rob the cradle; then here and there there’s a genuine wedding.  And who fixes them up?  Why, I do.  Ustinya Naumovna has to bear the burden for all of them.  And why does she have to?  Because that’s the way things are; from the beginning of the world, that’s the way the wheel was wound up.  However, to tell the truth, they don’t cheat me for my trouble:  one gives me the material for a dress, another a fringed shawl, another makes up a cap for you, and here and there you’ll get a gold piece, and here and there something better—­just what the job deserves and they’re able to pay.

FOMINISHNA.  What’s the use of talking, my dear; what’s the use of talking!

USTINYA NAUMOVNA.  Sit down, Fominishna; your legs are old and rickety.

FOMINISHNA.  Eh!  Haven’t time, my dear!  You see, it’s just awful; because he doesn’t come home we’re all scared to death:  he may come home drunk at any time.  And then what a bad one, good Lord!  Then what a row he’ll kick up.

USTINYA NAUMOVNA.  Naturally; a rich peasant is worse than the devil to talk to.

FOMINISHNA.  We’ve seen him do terrible things.  One night last week he came home drunk.  He tore around, and what a row!  It was simply awful; he smashed the china—­“Ooo!” he said, “I’ll kill the whole crowd of you at once!”

USTINYA NAUMOVNA.  Vulgarity!

FOMINISHNA.  That’s the truth, my dear.  But I’ll just run up-stairs, darling—­Agrafena Kondratyevna is alone in my room.  When you’re going home, come back to me; I’ll tie up a bit of ham for you. [She mounts the stairs.

USTINYA NAUMOVNA.  I’ll follow, my jewel, I’ll follow.

PODKHALYUZIN enters.