Volodya’s mother looked at the “one” and turned her uncomprehending
eyes on her son. Then again she glanced at the report and exclaimed
quietly:
“Volodya!”
Volodya stood before her, and he felt intensely small. He looked at the
folds of his mother’s dress and at his mother’s pale hands; his
trembling eyelids were conscious of her frightened glances fixed upon
them.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Don’t you worry, mamma,” burst out Volodya suddenly; “after all, it’s
my first!”
“Your first!”
“It may happen to any one. And really it was all an accident.”
“Oh, Volodya, Volodya!”
Volodya began to cry and to rub his tears, child-like, over his face
with the palm of his hand.
“Mamma darling, don’t be angry,” he whispered.
“That’s what comes of your shadows,” said his mother.
Volodya felt the tears in her voice. His heart was touched. He glanced
at his mother. She was crying. He turned quickly toward her.
“Mamma, mamma,” he kept on repeating, while kissing her hands, “I’ll
drop the shadows, really I will.”