“Yes, you are lucky,” said the first boy enviously. “You will get a little golden wreath, but what will happen to me?”
“I will entreat the angels, the archangels, the cherubim and the seraphim for you—give me but your full name and address.”
“My sin is quite a big one, and my name is Mitka Sosipatrov, from Nizhniya Kolotilovka.”
“Don’t be afraid,” said the birched boy. “As soon as they let me in to the upper chambers, I will at once fall at the feet of the Virgin Mary until you are forgiven.”
“Yes, do me this great favour.”
Kirsha stood pale. His eyes sparkled. He trembled from head to foot and kept on repeating:
“Mamma, come to me! Mamma, come to me!”
A radiant apparition suddenly appeared in the throng, and Kirsha throbbed with joy. Kirsha’s mother passed by—all white, all lovely, all gentle. She turned her tranquil eyes upon her dear ones and whispered:
“I will come.”
Kirsha, transported with a quiet joy, stood motionless. His eyes gleamed like the eyes of the quiet angel who stood there on guard.