"I'm learning to read," she said, sobbing. "It's time for me to
die, and I'm just learning to read!"
"You mustn't cry," said the Little Russian gently. "It wasn't your
fault you lived the way you did; and yet you understand that you
lived badly. There are thousands of people who could live better
than you, but who live like cattle and then boast of how well they
live. But what is good in their lives? To-day, their day's work
over, they eat, and to-morrow, their day's work over, they eat, and
so on through all their years--work and eat, work and eat! Along
with this they bring forth children, and at first amuse themselves
with them, but when they, too, begin to eat much, they grow surly
and scold: 'Come on, you gluttons! Hurry along! Grow up quick!
It's time you get to work!' and they would like to make beasts of
burden of their children. But the children begin to work for their
own stomachs, and drag their lives along as a thief drags a worthless
stolen mop. Their souls are never stirred with joy, never quickened
with a thought that melts the heart. Some live like mendicants--
always begging; some like thieves--always snatching out of the hands
of others.
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