“Wait a moment!” he called out, when he perceived that she was going past; “is that you again?”
The girl at first made no reply, for her feelings had been hurt by her former reception; but suddenly it seemed to occur to her that there was something strange in the boy’s question, and she paused. “Can’t you see that it is I?” she asked with much dignity, as she went on arranging a nosegay of wild flowers which she held in her hand.
This simple question sent a thrill of pain through the heart of the blind boy. He threw himself back on the grass and made no reply.
But the conversation had been started, and the girl still standing on the same spot and busying herself with her flowers, asked again: “Who taught you to play so well on the pipe?”
“Joachim taught me,” replied Petrùsya.
“You do play very well. Only why are you so cross?”
“I—am not cross with you,” replied the boy gently.
“Well, then, neither am I. Let us play together.”
“I don’t know how to play with you,” he replied, hanging his head.