“From bad to worse!” exclaimed Ignat. “But why did you do it?”
“Because.”
“Because!” mocked the father. “Well, if you did it you ought to be able to explain to yourself and to others the reason for so doing. Come here!”
Foma walked up to his father, who was sitting on a chair, and placed himself between his knees. Ignat put his hand on the boy’s shoulders, and, smiling, looked into his eyes.
“Are you ashamed?”
“I am ashamed,” sighed Foma.
“There you have it, fool! You have disgraced me and yourself.”
Pressing his son’s head to his breast, he stroked his hair and asked again:
“Why should you do such a thing—stealing other people’s apples?”
“I—I don’t know,” said Foma, confusedly. “Perhaps because it is so lonesome. I play and play the same thing day after day. I am growing tired of it! While this is dangerous.”