as she went on. She would receive answers to her questions, and then would follow sighs and groans terrible to hear. The poor woman's heart grew more and more anxious and sad.
Thus poor Dorothy the shepherdess continued to knock at the silver jars, one after the other, for nine times nine days, because the wicked Water Demon had not clearly explained to her where to seek for Yanechek. At last, almost worn out with fatigue, she cast a timid glance at the last two jars. "Are you here, my son Yanechek?" she asked, her voice sinking to a whisper; and she touched the shelf with her finger, fully expecting to receive an evil answer. No sooner had she done so than there came a sound from one of the little jars as when an empty vessel is struck. It broke loudly and harshly on the ears of the shepherdess, for the sound was like a human voice, and it seemed to say, "Yanechek is not here; but here is a place prepared for a mother who rears a wicked son." As the sound seemed to form itself into these words a dreadful fear seized the soul of the shepherdess, and her senses began to fail her. Low, suppressed cries of pain moaned in her ears, mingled with fiendish laughter; innumerable silver jars whirled round and round before her eyes, and the sighs and the laughter seemed to come from the silver jars, and to say to her,—
