“And so I have,” Russli agreed, “Because I have so much to do nowadays.”
Vinzi could not help wondering at Russli’s quick response; in fact all the little boy’s mischievous deeds had really come only from idleness.
“What keeps you so busy?” asked Vinzi.
“I’ll show it to you, but no one else must know about it,” replied Russli mysteriously.
He led Vinzi away from the road to the old larch trees, where the two used to sit in the old days when Vinzi had made his first pipes.
“Tell me something, Russli,” Vinzi began again, “did you put all your pipes in a pile together or did you give them to the boys who had none. So many have good pipes now and not the kind they used to make themselves.”
“I don’t ever give away my beautiful pipes,” replied Russli, quite hurt at a supposition throwing doubt on the sensibleness of his actions. “Come, you can see for yourself.”
They were standing at the exact place where Vinzi used to sit on a high mossy place beside the fragrant violets. Stooping down, Russli picked up several pieces of moss-covered earth which lay there cleverly joined together. He put them aside and shovelled away the loose earth underneath with both hands, disclosing a rather large hole. After lifting out a strong folded paper serving as cover, Russli asked his companion to look in. To his intense surprise Vinzi saw a collection of most varied objects: piles of nuts and dried prunes, match boxes, colored marbles, old knives and tobacco boxes, a little pump, a leather purse and a watch-chain of brass.
“What is this, Russli? To whom do all these things belong?” asked Vinzi, truly astonished.
“They all belong to me. I traded one of these things for every pipe you gave me. Do you see now?” asked Russli, proudly glancing at his storehouse.