the path was scarcely visible; the lights in the village were hidden from view.
Semka stopped, and began to listen.
"Hold on, boys! what is that?" he cried suddenly.
We held our breath, but there was nothing to be heard; nevertheless a sort of terror seized us.
"Now what shall we do," asked Fedka, "supposing he leaps out at us?"
We had been talking about brigands in the Caucasus. They remembered a story of the Caucasus which I had told them some time before, and I began to relate again about the Abreks, about the Cossacks, about the Hadji-Murat.
Semka still went in advance of us, taking long strides in his big boots, and rhythmically swinging his strong back. Pronka was trying to keep up with me, but Fedka pushed him from the path, and Pronka, who, probably owing to his weakness, was always giving in to every one else, managed only in the most interesting places to keep alongside of us, although he was wading through snow which reached to his knees.
2
Every one who knows peasant children at all must have observed that they are not accustomed to any sort of caresses, and cannot endure them—affectionate words, kisses, touching of hands, and other such things. I happened once to see how a lady in a peasant school wanted to caress a lad, and saying, "Now I am going to kiss you, darling,"[1] kissed him; and how the lad who received the kiss was covered with shame, felt insulted, and was perfectly at a loss to know why he was so treated. A lad of five years feels himself above such things as caresses; he is already grown up!
Therefore I was astonished beyond measure when Fedka, who was walking at my side, suddenly, in the most moving part of my story, touched me gently by the sleeve, and then grasped with his whole hand two of my fingers, and did not let go of them.
- ↑ Milashka.
