“Yes, I have.”
“Well, then, say them.”
And Senka muttered still more rapidly about a horseman who was riding above the Neva through the forests, where there were only—
“‘Firs, pine-trees, and green moss....’”
“Grey,” said Kuzma, “not green.”
“Well, then, grey,” assented Senka.
“And who was that horseman?”
Senka considered the matter. “Why, a sorcerer,” said he.
“Exactly. Now, tell your mother that she ought to cut your hair, on your temples at least. ’Tis all the worse for you as it is, when the teacher pulls it.”
“Then he’ll find my ears,” said Senka unconcernedly, again grasping his foot, and off he hopped on the pasture common.