“You mustn’t do such things,” said Lydochka sternly.
Georgik, unhappy because they had taken him away from Grisha, raised a cry. Lydochka took him in her arms and carried him away to quiet him. The nurse followed her. But the boys and the girls remained. They thronged round Grisha and eyed him unceremoniously.
“Perhaps he’s got stuck-on ears,” suggested one of the boys, “that’s why he doesn’t feel any pain.”
“I rather think you like to be held by your ears,” said another.
“Tell us,” said the little girl with the large blue eyes, “which ear does your mother catch hold of most?”
“His ears have been stretched out to order in a workshop,” cried a merry youngster, and laughed loudly at his own joke.
“No,” another corrected him, “he was born like that. When he was very small he was led not by his hand but by his ear.”
Grisha looked at his tormentors like a small beast at bay, with a fixed smile on his face, when, suddenly, wholly unexpectedly to the cheerful company, he burst into tears. Many small drops fell on his jacket. The children grew quiet at once. They became uneasy. They exchanged embarrassed glances, and looked silently at Grisha as he wiped the tears from his face with his thin hands; he appeared to be ashamed of his tears.
“Why should he be offended?” said the beautiful, flaxen-haired Katya angrily. “Who’s done him any harm? The ugly duckling!”
“He’s not an ugly duckling. You’re an ugly duckling yourself,” intervened Mitya.