As Natasha approached, the house turned around to face her and it seemed that its front windows were eyes and its front door a mouth. A servant of Baba Yaga's was standing in the yard. She was crying bitterly because of the tasks Baba Yaga had set her to do, and was wiping her eyes on her petticoat.
"How lucky," said Natasha, "that I have a handkerchief." She untied her kerchief, shook it clean, and carefully put the morsels of food in her pockets. She gave the handkerchief to Baba Yaga's servant, who wiped her eyes on it and smiled through her tears.
Ada By the hut was a huge dog, very thin, gnawing an old bone.
"How lucky," said the little girl, "that I have some bread and meat." Reaching into her pocket for her scraps of bread and meat, Natasha said to the dog, "I'm afraid it's rather stale, but it's better than nothing, I'm sure." And the dog gobbled it up at once and licked his lips.
Natasha reached the door to the hut. Trembling, she tapped on the door.
"Come in," squeaked the wicked voice of Baba Yaga.
The little girl stepped in. There sat Baba Yaga, the bony-legged one, the witch, sitting weaving at a loom. In a corner of the hut was a thin black cat watching a mouse-hole.
"Good day to you, auntie," said Natasha, trying to sound not at all afraid.
"Good day to you, niece," said Baba Yaga.
"My stepmother has sent me to you to ask for a needle and thread to mend a shirt."
"Has she now?" smiled Baba Yaga, flashing her iron teeth, for she knew how much her sister hated her stepdaughter. "You sit down here at the loom, and go on with my weaving, while I go and fetch you the needle and thread."
The little girl sat down at the loom and began to weave.
Baba Yaga whispered to her servant, "Listen to me! Make the bath very hot and scrub my niece. Scrub her clean. I'll make a dainty meal of her, I will.