“So your cousin Nikolasha cuts up dead people, does he?” he asked, after a pause.
“Yes, he is learning to.”
“Is he nice?”
“Yes, very, only he drinks a lot.”
“What did your father die of?”
“Papa grew weaker and weaker, and thinner and thinner, and then came his sore throat. And I was ill, too, and so was my brother Fedia. We all had sore throats. Papa died, Uncle, but we got well.”
Her chin quivered, her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, your Reverence!” she cried in a shrill voice, beginning to weep bitterly. “Dear Uncle, mother and all of us are so unhappy! Do give us a little money! Help us, Uncle darling!”
He also shed tears, and for a moment could not speak for emotion. He stroked her hair, and touched her shoulder, and said:
“All right, all right, little child. Wait until Easter comes, then we will talk about it. I’ll help you.”