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 you.” Avdyéitch got an apple from the basket, and gave it to the boy. “I will pay you for it, bábushka,” he said to the old woman.

“You ruin them that way, the good-for-nothings,” said the old woman. “He ought to be treated so that he would remember it for a whole week.”

“Eh, bábushka, bábushka,” said Avdyéitch, “that is right according to our judgment, but not according to God’s. If he is to be whipped for an apple, then what do we deserve for our sins?”

The old woman was silent.

Avdyéitch told her the parable of the khozyáïn who forgave a debtor all that he owed him, and how the debtor went and began to choke one who owed him.

The old woman listened, and the boy stood listening.

“God has commanded us to forgive,” said Avdyéitch, “else we, too, may not be forgiven. All should be forgiven, and the thoughtless especially.”

The old woman shook her head, and sighed.

“That’s so,” said she; “but the trouble is, that they are very much spoiled.”

“Then, we, who are older, must teach them,” said Avdyéitch.

“That’s just what I say,” remarked the old woman. “I myself had seven of them—only one daughter is left.” And the old woman began to relate where and how she lived with her daughter, and how many grandchildren she had. “Here,” she says, “my strength is only so-so, and yet I have to work. I pity the youngsters—my grandchildren—how nice they are! No one gives me such a welcome as they do. Aksintka won’t go to any one but me. (Bábushka, dear bábushka, lovliest”)—and the old woman grew quite sentimental.