Anjuta raised her clear little eyes. For the first time a human being looked at him, the thief and murderer, trustfully.
"It is all right, all right; don't worry!" he said half-embarrassed. And for the first time something strange came into his eyes and rolled in warm drops into his grey bristly beard.
V
Ivan the Runaway could not bury Anjuta's mother, for he had no spade. He contented himself with collecting twigs, pine-branches, and stones in order to cover the body of the poor tramp. The little girl at first wanted to hold his hands, but at his sharp rebuke she crept into a ditch and remained there crying bitterly, while he finished his work.
"Well, why are you crying?" he asked at last to comfort her.
"I am sad about mother."
"Your mother is dead; she won't come back."
"How can she be dead?"
"Have you never seen any one die?"
"Oh yes, Uncle Andron, whom God took to Himself."