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tered a long while. Thank God, I thought, I have diverted
his mind and comforted him.
‘That was the day before yesterday, in the evening, but last
night everything was changed. He had gone to school in the
morning, he came back depressed, terribly depressed. In the
evening I took him by the hand and we went for a walk; he
would not talk. There was a wind blowing and no sun, and
a feeling of autumn; twilight was coming on. We walked
along, both of us depressed. ‘Well, my boy,’ said I, ‘how
about our setting off on our travels?’ I thought I might bring
him back to our talk of the day before. He didn’t answer, but
I felt his fingers trembling in my hand. Ah, I thought, it’s a
bad job; there’s something fresh. We had reached the stone
where we are now. I sat down on the stone. And in the air
there were lots of kites flapping and whirling. There were
as many as thirty in sight. Of course, it’s just the season for
the kites. ‘Look, Ilusha,’ said I, ‘it’s time we got out our last
year’s kite again. I’ll mend it; where have you put it away?’
My boy made no answer. He looked away and turned side-
ways to me. And then a gust of wind blew up the sand. He
suddenly fell on me, threw both his little arms round my
neck and held me tight. You know, when children are silent
and proud, and try to keep back their tears when they are
in great trouble and suddenly break down, their tears fall
in streams. With those warm streams of tears, he suddenly
wetted my face. He sobbed and shook as though he were
in convulsions, and squeezed up against me as I sat on the
stone. ‘Father,’ he kept crying, ‘dear father, how he insulted
you!’ And I sobbed too. We sat shaking in each other’s arms.