"Rather," said Pashka, and added proudly, "Once I drew it out of the sheath—my word! it was heavy!"
"Now you're an orphan like Ilyushka," said Jakov thoughtfully, after a pause.
"Hardly," answered Pashka angrily. "Do you mean I've got to go and be a rag-picker? I should think not."
"I don't mean that."
"I shall just live as I like," went on Pashka proudly, with his head held up and his eyes sparkling. "I'm not an orphan, I'm only just alone in the world, and I will just live for myself, my father wouldn't send me to school, and now they'll put him in prison, and I shall just go to school and learn more than you."
"Where will you get the clothes?" said Ilya, and looked triumphantly at Pashka, "you can't go there in rags."
"Clothes? I will sell the smithy!"
All looked respectfully at Pashka, and Ilya felt himself beaten. Pashka observed the impression his words produced, and held himself still straighter.
"Yes, and I'll buy a horse, a real live horse, and I'll ride to school."
This idea pleased him so much that he even smiled, only a very, very shy smile that flitted over his mouth and was gone in a moment.