“A good menagerie?” the boy asked proudly.

“Very good.”

“But I haven’t one butterfly, nor any moths. either.”

“What’s your name?”

“Lenka.”

“You’re my name-sake.”

“Really? And you—what kind of a man are you?”

“No kind.”

“Oh, you’re lying. Everybody’s something. I know that. You’re a good chap.”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh, I can see. You’re a ’fraidy-cat, too.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, I know.” He smiled slyly and even winked at me.

“Why do you think so?”

“Well, you sit here with me, that means you’re afraid to go home at night.”

“But it’s already daybreak.”

“So you’re going?”

“I’ll come back.”

He wouldn’t believe me. He covered his dear shaggy eyes with his lashes and, after a pause, said:

“What for?”

“Why, just to see you. You’re an interesting fellow. May I come?”

“Sure. Everybody comes here.” With a sigh, he added: “You’re fooling me.”

“I swear I’ll come.”

“Do come. And come to see me, not Mammy, deuce take her. Let’s you and I be friends, eh?”

“All right.”

“Very well. It doesn’t matter that you’re big. How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“And I’m eleven. I haven’t any chums. Only Katka, the water-carrier’s daughter. Her mother beats her because she comes to see me.…Are you a thief?”

“No. Why a thief?”