“Ah! it is you, Mitia;[1] but where have you been all this time, you little devil?” asked the old woman.
“I will tell you afterwards, grandmother. For God’s sake, some bread!”
“Come into the hut, then.”
“I haven’t the time, grandmother; I’ve got to run on to another place. Bread, for the Lord’s sake, bread!”
“What a fidget!” grumbled the old woman: “there’s a piece for you,” and she pushed through the window a slice of black bread.
The boy bit it with avidity, and then continued his course, eating it as he went.
It was beginning to grow dark. Mitia made his way along by the corn kilns and kitchen gardens into the Kistenevka wood. On arriving at the two pine trees, standing like advanced guards before the wood, he paused, looked round on every side, gave a shrill, abrupt whistle, and then listened. A light and prolonged whistle was heard in reply, and somebody came out of the wood and advanced towards him.
[1] Diminutive of Dimitry (Demetrius).