'Aha! aha! There, you see! I told you so!' whispered the girl again.
'Hush!' answered her brother, also in a whisper, stooping down to look for the Screw. But it was too late; Karl Ivánovich came into the workshop, and in his presence the boy was afraid to show what he had done.
Our Screw, meanwhile, lay on the floor, and did not grieve over what had happened.
'It is all the same,' he thought,—'to be crushed under somebody's foot, or to go through a whole life such a feeble and useless creature as I am!'
Just at that moment Karl Ivánovich came into the workshop, puffing at his pipe. He was a thorough German, with a flat, red face, and an embroidered cap with a tassel. Although he had lived in Russia for about thirty years, and owed his good fortune to Russian people, yet he had not learnt Russian properly, and thought even that it was a merit not to know it. He was of the opinion that the Russians were mere cattle; and when he contrived to gain 50 per cent in selling some watch to a Russian, this was in his eyes one proof more how right he was to think contemptuously of the nation. He therefore always spoke German in his domestic life.
'Kinder, fort! fort!' said Karl Ivánovich sternly. But observing at once from the frightened faces of the children that something must be amiss, he frowned still more severely, and going up to the bench, began inspecting it closely.
'What mischief have you been up to here, eh?' asked the watchmaker.
The children hung their heads in silence.
Karl Ivánovich once more carefully examined his bench, and suddenly his attention was caught by the watch-glass in which he had laid the wee blue steel Screw.
'Where's the Screw? Who has taken the Screw?' shouted Karl Ivánovich at the top of his voice.