"A heart of gold, I tell you, my little eaglet, my Radionek."
"Now tell me why you are going to town," said Chwedko, after a moment's pause.
"Must I tell you the real truth?" answered Iermola.
"Of course; but what notion have you taken up?"
"Well, I am not going to the next town; I am going farther."
"Really? Your little boy told me that you were going to collect your money from the Jews."
"Yes, I told him that; but I have another plan."
And here Iermola heaved a deep sigh, and then related to his companion the story of the glazed pottery, to which Chwedko only replied by a scornful laugh and a shrug of his shoulders.
"Ah, ah! your little fellow wants the moon. And since you are contented with your business, why not stick to it without running after new ideas? Sometimes, neighbour, people turn fools with trying to be too wise. You make simple, old-fashioned pottery, and you find purchasers, because even the poorest creature cannot do without some of them, the most wretched must have a pot to boil his vegetable stew. But it will be altogether a different thing with your glazed ware; you will be obliged to go to town to sell it, for no one will buy it in the village. The Jews will buy it from you and pay you a poor price. At the fair one makes little; it will be quite a different thing."
"But the child wishes to do it so very much."