Mishka looked at Grisha pleadingly, and his eyes sparkled enviously.
“You won’t keep me waiting long?” asked Grisha.
“No, I live quite near here, just round the corner. Don’t be afraid! Upon my word, in a minute!”
Grisha trustfully took off his mittens and gave them to Mishka.
“I’ll be back in a minute, wait here, don’t go away,” exclaimed Mishka, as he ran off with Grisha’s mittens. He disappeared round the corner, and Grisha was left waiting. He did not imagine that Mishka would fool him; he thought that he would simply run home, show his mittens, and return with them. He stood there long and waited, and Mishka did not even dream of returning.
The short autumn day was already darkening; Grisha’s mother, restless because of her boy’s long absence, went out to look for him. Grisha at last understood that Mishka would not return. The poor boy turned sadly toward home and he met his mother.
“Grisha, what have you done with yourself” she asked, angry and glad at finding her son.
Grisha did not reply. He seemed embarrassed as he rubbed his hands, red with cold. His mother then noticed that he did not wear his mittens.
“Where are your mittens?” she asked angrily, as she searched his overcoat pockets.
Grisha smiled and said: “I lent them to a boy for a short time, and he didn’t bring them back.”