“I was but jesting,” smiled the old man. “I just wanted to frighten you.”
“You are afraid of my father yourself,” said Foma, and, turning his back to the old man, walked off into the depth of the garden.
“I am afraid? Ah! Very well!” exclaimed Chumakov after him, and Foma knew by the sound of his voice that he had offended the old man. He felt sad and ashamed; he passed the afternoon in walking, and, coming home, he was met by his father’s stern question:
“Foma! Did you go to Chumakov’s garden?”
“Yes, I did,” said the boy, calmly, looking into his father’s eyes.
Evidently Ignat did not expect such an answer and he was silent for awhile, stroking his beard.
“Fool! Why did you do it? Have you not enough of your own apples?”
Foma cast down his eyes and was silent, standing before his father.
“See, you are shamed! Yozhishka must have incited you to this! I’ll give it to him when he comes, or I’ll make an end of your friendship altogether.”
“I did it myself,” said Foma, firmly.