"Cut, man! Run!"
Mishka mumbled, trying to explain.
"Such a rare book! says you're all beasts and dogs, you are. So I thought to myself—it's true, Lord. To tell the truth, we are godless scoundrels—miserable wretches. And then, too, I thought, barynia—she's an old lady; perhaps she's got but this one book for a comfort. Then the clasps—we wouldn't get much for them. But on the book now, they are a real thing. So I turned it over in my mind, and I said to myself, 'I'll go give the old lady some pleasure'—bring her this back. Then too, thanked be the Lord, we earned somewhat yesterday to buy our bread. Well, good-afternoon to you, ma'am; I'll be going."
"Wait a moment," said the old lady. "Did you understand what I read yesterday?"
"Did I? Why, no, how can I understand it? I hear it, that's so—and even then, how do I hear it? As if our ears were fit for the Word of God? We can't understand it. You hear it with your heart like, but the ear, it doesn't take it in. Goodbye to you, ma'am."
"So—so!" drawled out the old lady. "No, just wait a minute."
Mishka sighed forlornly, so that you could hear him all over the yard, and moved his weight from one foot to the other like a bear. Evidently this explanation was growing very wearisome to him.
"Would you like me to read you some more?"
"M'm! my mates are waiting for me."
"Never mind them. You are a good fellow. You must leave them."