“It’s wicked to steal!” I burst out, full of the saddest perplexity.
“Our people were all away. Marusia was crying because she was hungry.”
“Yes, I was hungry,” repeated the child with pitiful simplicity.
I had not yet discovered what hunger was, but at the little one’s
last words my breast heaved and I stared at my friends as if I were
seeing them for the first time. Valek was lying on the grass as before,
pensively watching a soaring sparrow-hawk, but he now no longer looked
impressive. At the sight of Marusia holding her piece of bread in both
hands my heart absolutely stopped beating.
“Why”--I asked with an effort--“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I wanted to tell you, and then I changed my mind. You have no money of
your own.”
“Well, what difference does that make? I should have brought a loaf
from home.”
“What, on the sly?”
“Yes-es----”
“Then you would have stolen it too.”
“I--it would have been from my father.”
“That’s worse!” said Valek decidedly. “I never rob my father.”
“Well, then, I should have asked for it. He would have given it to me.”
“Oh, he might have given it to you once--but how could he provide for
all the beggars in town?”
“Are you--beggars?” I asked in a low voice.
“Yes, we are beggars,” answered Valek bluntly and gruffly.