He asks the price five times;
Again and again
He has turned them all over;
He finds they are faultless.
"Well, Uncle, pay up now,
Or else be off quickly,"
The seller says sharply.
But wait! The old fellow
Still gazes, and fondles 280
The tiny boots softly,
And then speaks in this wise:
"My daughter won't scold me,
Her husband I'll spit at,
My wife--let her grumble--
I'll spit at my wife too.
It's her that I pity--
My poor little grandchild.
She clung to my neck,
And she said, 'Little Grandfather, 290
Buy me a present.'
Her soft little ringlets
Were tickling my cheek,
And she kissed the old Grand-dad.
You wait, little bare-foot,
Wee spinning-top, wait then,
Some boots I will buy you,
Some boots made of goat-skin."
And then must old Vavil
Begin to boast grandly, 300
To promise a present
To old and to young.
But now his last farthing
Is swallowed in vodka,
And how can he dare
Show his eyes in the village?
"My daughter won't scold me,
Her husband I'll spit at,
My wife--let her grumble--
I'll spit at my wife too. 310
It's her that I pity--
My poor little grandchild."
And then he commences
The story again
Of the poor little grandchild.
He's very dejected.
A crowd listens round him,
Not laughing, but troubled
At sight of his sorrow.
If they could have helped him 320
With bread or by labour
They soon would have done so,
But money is money,
And who has got tenpence
To spare? Then came forward
Pavloosha Varenko,
The "gentleman" nicknamed.
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