little boy was screaming, the old woman was scolding. Avdyeitch lost no time in putting away his awl; he threw it upon the floor, sprang to the door,—he even stumbled on the stairs, and dropped his spectacles,—and rushed out into the street.

The old woman was pulling the youngster by his hair, and was scolding and threatening to take him to the policeman; the youngster was defending himself, and denying the charge.

“I did not take it,” he said; “What are you licking me for? Let me go!”

Avdyeitch tried to separate them. He took the boy by his arm, and said:—

“Let him go, babushka; forgive him, for Christ's sake.”

“I will forgive him so that he won't forget it till the new broom grows. I am going to take the little villain to the police.”

Avdyeitch began to entreat the old woman:—

“Let him go, babushka,” he said, “he will never do it again. Let him go, for Christ's sake.”

The old woman let him loose; the boy started to run, but Avdyeitch kept him back.

“Ask the babushka's forgiveness,” he said, “and don't you ever do it again; I saw you take the apple.”

The boy burst into tears, and began to ask forgiveness.

“There now! that's right; and here's an apple for you.”

And Avdyeitch took an apple from the basket, and gave it to the boy.

“I will pay you for it, babushka,” he said to the old woman.

“You ruin them that way, the good-for-nothings,” said the old woman. “He ought to be treated so that he would remember it for a whole week.”

“Eh, babushka, babushka,” said Avdyeitch, “that is right according to our judgment, but not according to God's. If he is to be whipped for an apple, then what ought to be done to us for our sins?”

The old woman was silent.

And Avdyeitch told her the parable of the master who forgave a debtor all that he owed him, and how the debtor went and began to choke one who owed him.

The old woman listened, and the boy stood listening.

“God has commanded us to forgive,” said Avdyeitch, “else we, too, may not be forgiven. All should be forgiven, and the thoughtless especially.”

The old woman shook her head, and sighed.

“That's so,” said she; “but the trouble is that they are very much spoiled.”

“Then we who are older must teach them,” said Avdyeitch.

“That's just what I say,” remarked the old woman. “I myself have had seven of them,—only one daughter is left.”

And the old woman began to relate where and how she lived with her daughter, and how many grandchildren she had. “Here,” she says, “my strength is only so-so, and yet I have to work. I pity the youngsters—my grandchildren—but what nice children they are! No one gives me such a welcome as they do. Aksintka won't go to anyone but me. ‘Babushka, dear babushka, lovliest.’”

And the old woman grew quite sentimental.

“Of course, it is a childish trick. God be with him,” said she, pointing to the boy.

The woman was just about to lift the bag up on her shoulder, when the boy ran up, and said:—

“Let me carry it, babushka; it is on my way.”

The old woman nodded her head, and put the bag on the boy's back.

And side by side they passed along the street.

And the old woman even forgot to ask Avdyeitch to pay for the apple. Avdyeitch stood motionless, and kept gazing after them; and he heard them talking all the time as they walked away. After Avdyeitch saw them disappear, he returned to his room; he found his eye-glasses on the stairs,—they were not broken; he picked up his awl, and sat down to work again.

After working a little while, it grew darker, so that he could not see to sew; he saw the lamplighter passing by to light the street-lamps.

“It must be time to make a light,” he said to himself; so he got his little lamp ready, hung it up, and he took himself again to his work. He had one boot already finished; he