Zhilin pulled up the pole, and said, "Carry it back to its place, Dina, for if they found it they would flog you."
She dragged off the pole, and Zhilin began to go down the mountain. When he had reached the bottom of the cliff, he took a sharp stone, and tried to break the padlock of his clog. But the lock was strong; he could not strike it fairly.
He hears some one hurrying down the hill, with light, skipping steps. He thinks, "That is probably Dina again."
Dina ran to him, took a stone, and says, "Let me try it."
She knelt down, and began to work with all her might. But her hands were as delicate as osiers. She had no strength. She threw down the stone, and burst into tears.
Zhilin again tried to break the lock, and Dina squatted by his side, and leaned against his shoulder. Zhilin glanced up, and saw at the left behind the mountain a red glow like a fire; it was the moon just rising.
"Well," he says to himself, "I must cross the valley and get into the woods before the moon rises." He stood up, and threw away the stone. No matter for the clog—he must take it with him.
"Good-by," says he. "Dínushka, I shall always remember you."
Dina clung to him, reached with her hands for a place to stow away some cakes. He took the cakes.
"Thank you," said he: "you are a thoughtful darling. Who will make you dolls after I am gone?" and he stroked her hair.