The Brothers Karamazovnine and twelve, at the bridge. They were going home from
school, some with their bags on their shoulders, others with
leather satchels slung across them, some in short jackets,
others in little overcoats. Some even had those high boots
with creases round the ankles, such as little boys spoilt
by rich fathers love to wear. The whole group was talking
eagerly about something, apparently holding a council.
Alyosha had never from his Moscow days been able to pass
children without taking notice of them, and although he
was particularly fond of children of three or thereabout, he
liked schoolboys of ten and eleven too. And so, anxious as
he was to-day, he wanted at once to turn aside to talk to
them. He looked into their excited rosy faces, and noticed at
once that all the boys had stones in their hands. Behind the
ditch some thirty paces away, there was another schoolboy
standing by a fence. He too had a satchel at his side. He was
about ten years old, pale, delicate-looking and with spar-
kling black eyes. He kept an attentive and anxious watch on
the other six, obviously his schoolfellows with whom he had
just come out of school, but with whom he had evidently
had a feud.
Alyosha went up and, addressing a fair, curly-headed,
rosy boy in a black jacket, observed:
‘When I used to wear a satchel like yours, I always used
to carry it on my left side, so as to have my right hand free,
but you’ve got yours on your right side. So it will be awk-
ward for you to get at it.’
Alyosha had no art or premeditation in beginning with
this practical remark. But it is the only way for a grown-up