Grandfather and grandmother had again gone into the town. I went to them, prepared to be angry and warlike; but my heart was heavy. Why had they accounted me a thief?
Grandmother greeted me tenderly, and at once went to prepare the samovar. Grandfather asked as mockingly as usual:
"Have you saved much money?"
"What there is belongs to me," I answered, taking a seat by the window. I triumphantly produced a box of cigarettes from my pocket and began to smoke importantly.
"So-o-o," said grandfather, looking at me fixedly—"so that sit! You smoke the devil's poison? Isn't it rather soon?"
"Why, I have even had a pouch given to me," I boasted.
"A pouch?" squeaked grandfather. "What! Are you saying this to annoy me?"
He rushed upon me, with his thin, strong hands outstretched, his green eyes flashing. I leaped up, and stuck my head into his stomach. The old man sat on the floor, and for several oppressive moments looked at me, amazedly blinking, his dark mouth open. Then he asked quietly:
"You knock me down, your grandfather? The father of your mother?"
"You have knocked me about enough in the past," I muttered, not understanding that I had acted abominably.