She was still muttering when she reached them.
"This one has got to be trained," she said savagely; "and I might as well begin it right off."
Michael shrugged his shoulders. "Why don't you show a little, mercy at the first?" he inquired carelessly. "It doesn't matter to me, but I tell you, Martha, you will spoil her for everything if you handle her too roughly. She will die. I've seen her sort before."
"Then let her die!" said the woman. "Good riddance it will be if she does not take kindly to my tasks."
"Suit yourself," said Michael; "but take my advice and give her a little time."
"Time!" said Martha. "Time! What are you thinking of? There is no time! She has lost two years, as it is. You don't seem to remember, Michael, that I am as good a pickpocket as there is in Europe. That child is almost too old to begin to learn the art. The other one, Rika, is just about right; and she has such fine, delicate, little fingers. Well, this one has good hands too. But you know well that they are clumsy after they reach five. Do you remember the yellow-haired child I trained about ten years ago? Ali, she was a wonder! But you never could keep her down. How I used to beat her! She would be black welts from her shoulders to her knees. No, you could not keep her down. She was so ambitious. If she had only kept out of politics, she might have been stealing yet. But now she is in Siberia, in the mines. Bah! A home life for me, I say! What care I who is in power, so long as pretty ladies carry shopping bags and wear sparkling bracelets and flashing brooches! I say a woman wants to keep to her own place. Isn't it so, my Michael?"
"Yes, indeed," said Michael heartily. "I read the other day—"
"Read!" said Martha scornfully. "That's another mistake. Why should a man like you read? Sooner or later it will get you in trouble. You never know what the reading may contain. Better not know. What you don't know won't hurt you."
"You are wrong," said Michael stubbornly. "Sometimes what you don't know does hurt you. If I could live again, I would be a better man. When I was a boy there was no learning to be had, except for the upper class and the priests. Now when I am old and it is too late, you can learn everything. I have loitered around the schools and listened to the boys talking their lessons over. It is amazing what they know. Why, they know everything! And there are schools where they are set to work at all sorts of trades. I took a job cleaning floors once so that I might go in and see what it was they did. Martha, those boys (they were quite little ones, too) made such beautiful things—furniture and all that. There was one little chair that you could set on your hand. It was as perfect as though it was big enough for you. I thought that I would steal it. Then I thought how sad the little fellow who made it would feel. The janitor told me there were prizes for the best workmen, and I knew that chair was best. So I didn't take it. I never wanted anything more, in my life!"
"Silly," said Martha. "Always bothering your old head about someone's feelings! I do wish you would stop it! As for these children, I tell you, Michael, it is a matter of business. We are no longer young. We must prepare for the time when we can no longer stand on corners and in church doors and beg. My fingers even now are growing clumsy. Who will take care of us then if we do not train these children?"