“Mind you don’t tell mamma,” said Katya, as they went back to bed. “Volodya will bring us gold and ivory from America, but if you tell mamma he won’t be allowed to go.”
The day before Christmas Eve, Lentilov spent the whole day poring over the map of Asia and making notes, while Volodya, with a languid and swollen face that looked as though it had been stung by a bee, walked about the rooms and ate nothing. And once he stood still before the holy image in the nursery, crossed himself, and said:
“Lord, forgive me a sinner; Lord, have pity on my poor unhappy mamma!”
In the evening he burst out crying. On saying good-night he gave his father a long hug, and then hugged his mother and sisters. Katya and Sonya knew what was the matter, but little Masha was puzzled, completely puzzled. Every time she looked at Lentilov she grew thoughtful and said with a sigh:
“When Lent comes, nurse says we shall have to eat peas and lentils.”
Early in the morning of Christmas Eve, Katya and Sonya slipped quietly out of bed, and went to find out how the boys meant to run away to America. They crept to their door.
“Then you don’t mean to go?” Lentilov was saying angrily. “Speak out: aren’t you going?”
“Oh dear,” Volodya wept softly. “How can I go? I feel so unhappy about mamma.”
“My pale-face brother, I pray you, let us set off. You declared you were going, you egged me on, and now the time comes, you funk it!”
“I . . . I . . . I’m not funking it, but I . . . I . . . I’m sorry for mamma.”