To hear her child cry
For its food--full of pity,
But fearing God's anger.
But I did not listen!
I said to myself
That if penance were needful
The mothers must suffer,
But not little children.
I said, 'I am guilty, 210
My God--not my children!'

"It seems God was angry
And punished me for it
Through my little son;
My Father-in-law
To the commune had offered
My little Fedotka
As help to the shepherd
When he was turned eight....
One night I was waiting 220
To give him his supper;
The cattle already
Were home, but he came not.
I went through the village
And saw that the people
Were gathered together
And talking of something.
I listened, then elbowed
My way through the people;
Fedotka was set 230