“Mushrooms, kitten, mushrooms.”
At last the road descended, and they beheld Thumsee under their feet. In the course of half an hour they came down to a beaten path, stretching along the shore, on which were visible here and there wooden foot-piers, extending a few yards into the lake. Litka wished to look from near by at big fish which were visible in the clear water. Pan Stanislav, taking her by the hand, led her out on to one of the piers.
The fish, accustomed to crumbs thrown by visitors, instead of fleeing, approached still nearer, and soon a whole circle surrounded Litka’s feet. In the blue water were visible the golden-brown backs of the carp, and the gray spotted scales of the salmon trout, while the round eyes of these creatures were fixed on the little girl as if with an expression of entreaty.
“Coming back, we will bring lots of bread,” said Litka. “How strangely they look at us! What are they thinking of?”
“They are thinking very slowly,” said Pan Stanislav; “and only after an hour or two will they say: ‘Ah! here is some little girl with yellow hair and rosy dress and black stockings.’”
“And what will they think of Pan Stas?”
“They will think that I am some gypsy, for I have not yellow hair.”
“No. Gypsies have no houses.”
“And I have no house, Litka. I had the chance of one, but I sold it.”
He uttered this last phrase in a certain unusual manner, and in general there was sadness in his voice. The little girl looked at him carefully; and all at once her sensitive face reflected his sadness, just as that water reflected her form. When they joined the rest of the company, from time to time she raised her sad eyes with an inquiring and disturbed expression. At last, pressing more firmly his hand, which she held, she asked,—