"People are satisfied with little from me! I know you love me;
you are capable of loving everybody; you have a great heart," said
the Little Russian, rocking in his chair, his eyes straying about
the room.
"No, I love you very differently!" insisted the mother. "If you
had a mother, people would envy her because she had such a son."
The Little Russian swayed his head, and rubbed it vigorously with
both hands.
"I have a mother, somewhere!" he said in a low voice.
"Do you know what I did to-day?" she exclaimed, and reddening a
little, her voice choking with satisfaction, she quickly recounted
how she had smuggled literature into the factory.
For a moment he looked at her in amazement with his eyes wide open;
then he burst out into a loud guffaw, stamped his feet, thumped his
head with his fingers, and cried joyously:
"Oho! That's no joke any more! That's business! Won't Pavel be
glad, though! Oh, you're a trump. That's good, mother! You have
no idea HOW good it is! Both for Pavel and all who were arrested
with him!"
He snapped his fingers in ecstasy, whistled, and fairly doubled
over, all radiant with joy. His delight evoked a vigorous response
from the mother.
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