"Oh! Oh! Oh! Who is pulling me by the ear?"
It was only after Okhrim had given me a few good thumps and several resounding smacks that we encountered each other's eyes and recognized one another. We were both so astonished that we were speechless.
"Mrs. Abraham's boy!" cried Okhrim, and he crossed himself. He began to realize the ruin I had brought on his garden. He scrutinized each bed and examined each little stick. He was so overcome that the tears filled his eyes. He stood facing me, his hands folded, and he asked me only one solitary question:
"Why have you done this to me?"
It was only then that I realized the mischief I had done, and whom I had done it to. I was so amazed at myself that I could only repeat:
"Why? Why?"
"Come," said Okhrim, and took me by the hand. I was bowed to the earth with fear. I imagined he was going to make an end of me. But Okhrim did not touch me. He only held me so tightly by the hand that my eyes began to bulge from my head. He brought me home to my mother, told her everything, and left me entirely in her hands.
. . . . .
Need I tell you what I got from my mother? Need I describe for you her anger, and her fright, and how she wrung her hands when Okhrim told her in detail all that had taken place in his garden, and of all the damage I had done to his vegetables? Okhrim took his stick and showed my mother how I had destroyed everything on all sides, how I had smashed and broken, and trampled down everything with my feet, pulled the little potatoes out of the ground, and torn the tops off the little onions and the garlic that were just showing above the earth.
"And why? And wherefore? Why, Mrs. Abraham—why?"