“Ólga dear, come here! Here’s an awful lot!”
“Nonsense! … Hullo!” they called to each other when they got behind the bushes.
Taráska went farther, beyond the hollow, where the trees had been felled two years before, and where the new growth, especially the hazels and maples, was already taller than a man. The grass there was thicker and more juicy, and the berries, protected by the grass, grew juicier and larger.
“Groúsha!”
“Eh?”
“Supposing a wolf came?”
“Well, what about a wolf? What do you frighten one for? … I’m not afraid, I’m not!” declared Groúsha; and absentmindedly, her thoughts wandering to the wolf, she put berry after berry—and some of the very finest—into her mouth instead of into the mug.
“See! our Taráska has gone beyond the ravine! … Taráska, hullo! …”
“Here!” answered Taráska across the ravine. “You come too!”
“Yes, let us; there are more berries there!” And the girls clambered down into the hollow, holding on to the bushes and along the little crevices, and up again on the other side. And here they chanced at once on a spot lying in the full glare of the sunlight, covered with fine grass and sprinkled thick with strawberries; and straightway they set to work with hands and mouths, silently and without pausing. Suddenly something rustled through the stillness, and with a terrible noise (as it seemed to them) rattled and clattered among the grass and bushes.
Groúsha fell down with a fright, upsetting the already half-filled jug. “Mammy!” she whimpered, and began to cry.