"Poor Ti--Ti--Ti----" he said sadly, as he struck his breast with his trembling finger. He could not even recollect his own name--that had been forgotten too. He had nothing, nothing whatever.
Oh, yes, he had. He put his hands to his shaking head, that never kept quiet for a moment. He had saved something, hidden something like a dog his bone. He would go to it now. And even if his father were to beat him afterwards and say, "Boy, why do you eat unripe fruit?" still, what was hidden behind the loose stone in the wall would taste good.
Mr. Tiralla walked to the door; he had suddenly recovered the use of his limbs. He shuffled and staggered, but still he went on. It was a wonder that he succeeded in opening the front door, which was looked, but all at once he had become possessed of strength in his fingers and strength of will too.
The wind in the yard knocked him down. He fell full length, but picked himself up again. "Dalej, dalej!" Quiet, very quiet--no lamenting even if he had hurt himself on the stones--so that his father should not come and seize him by the collar, "Tell me, my son, where are you creeping off?"
"Dalej, dalej!" He was longing to get there. A bright streak in the sky already cast a faint glimmer of light around. The man looked about as he groped along. Aha, there was the stable! Aha!
Then Mr. Tiralla was happy.
CHAPTER XIV
Marianna was humming a song, although she had been up all night and the words almost froze on her lips in the calm, cold, wintry air.
"Black eyes in her head,
Just like me, just like me.
Golden hackles on her shoes,
Just like me, just like me.