going round. The
whole room--the table and the books, the boys and the moon that hung
beside the door, and the little knives--all were whirling round. I felt
as if my two feet were chopped off. Another moment, and I might have
fallen down, but I controlled myself with all my strength, and I did not
fall.

In the evening, I came home, and felt that my face was burning. My
cheeks were on fire, and in my ears was a hissing noise. I heard some
one speaking to me, but what they said I do not know. My father was
saying something, and seemed to be angry. He wanted to beat me. My
mother intervened. She spread out her apron, as a clucking hen spreads
out her wing to defend her chickens from injury. I heard nothing, and
did not want to hear. I only wanted the darkness to fall sooner, so that
I might make an end of the little knife. What was I to do with it?
Confess everything, and give it up? Then I would suffer the same
punishment as Berrel. Throw it carelessly somewhere? But I may be
caught? Throw it away, and no more, so long as I am rid of it? Where was
I to throw it in order that it might not be found by anybody? On the
roof? The noise would be heard. In the garden? It might be found. Ah, I
know! I have a plan, I'll throw it into the water. A good plan, as I
live. I'll throw it into the well that is in our own yard. This plan
pleased me so much that I did not wish to dwell on it longer. I took up
the knife, and ran off straight to the well. It seemed to me that I was
carrying in my hand not a knife but something repulsive--a filthy little
creature of which I must rid myself at once. But, still I was sorry. It
was such a fine little knife. For a moment, I stood thinking, and it
seemed to me that I was holding in my hand a living thing. My heart
ached for it. Surely, surely, it has cost me so much heartache. It is a
pity for the living. I summoned all my courage, and let it out suddenly
from my fingers. Plash! The water bubbled up for a moment. Nothing more
was heard, and my knife was gone. I stood a moment at the well and
listened. I heard nothing. Thank God, I was rid of it. My heart was
faint, and full of longing. Surely, it was a fine knife--such a knife!

* * *

I went back to bed, and saw that the moon was still looking down at me.
And it seemed to me she had seen everything I had done. From the
distance a voice seemed to be saying to me: "But, you are a thief all
the same. Catch him, beat him. He is a thief, a thief