"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"What's that to do with you?" they demanded in Russian. "What harm is
it?" they asked calmly. "They are no more than birds, ordinary little
birds."
"And if they are only birds? Have you no pity for the living--no mercy
for the little birds?"
The boys looked curiously at one another, and as if they had already
made up their minds in advance to do it, they at once fell upon me.
When I came home, my torn jacket told the story, and my father gave me
the good beating I deserved.
"Ragged fool!" cried my mother.