“Eh! They do not understand!” exclaimed the receiver, confused. “I’ll go down and explain it to them.”
And he disappeared. But the peasants’ regard for his gift did not interest Foma. He saw that the black eyes of the rosy-cheeked woman were looking at him so strangely and pleasingly. They seemed to thank him and caressingly beckoned him, and besides those eyes he saw nothing. The woman was dressed like the city women. She wore shoes, a calico waist, and over her black hair she had a peculiar kerchief. Tall and supple, seated on a pile of wood, she repaired sacks, quickly moving her hands, which were bare up to the elbows, and she smiled at Foma all the time.
“Foma Ignatyich!” he heard Yefim’s reproachful voice, “you’ve showed off too much. Well, if it were only about fifty puds! But why so much? Look out that we don’t get a good scolding for this.”
“Leave me alone!” said Foma, shortly.
“What is it to me? I’ll keep quiet. But as you are so young, and as I was told to keep an eye on you, I may get a rap on the snout for being heedless.”
“I’ll tell my father all about it. Keep quiet!” said Foma.
“As for me—let it be so—so that you are master here.”
“Very well.”
“I have said this, Foma Ignatyich, for your own sake—because you are so young and simple-minded.”
“Leave me alone, Yefim!”