Grandmother was pleased with me for bearing pain patiently.
"Brave boy!" she praised me. "He who is most patient will be the cleverest."
Whenever she had saved a little money from the sale of mushrooms and nuts, she used to lay it on window-sills as "secret alms," and she herself went about in rags and patches even on Sundays.
"You go about worse than a beggar. You put me to shame," grumbled grandfather.
"What does it matter to you? I am not your daughter. I am not looking for a husband."
Their quarrels had become more frequent.
"I am not more sinful than others," cried grandfather in injured tones, "but my punishment is greater."
Grandmother used to tease him.
"The devils know what every one is worth." And she would say to me privately: "My old man is frightened of devils. See how quickly he is aging! It is all from fear; eh, poor man!"
I had become very hardy during the summer, and quite savage through living in the forest, and I had lost all interest in the life of my contemporaries, such as Ludmilla. She seemed to me to be tiresomely sensible.