She turned to me.
`My tatinek make me little hat with the skins, little hat for winter!' she
exclaimed joyfully. `Meat for eat, skin for hat'--she told off these
benefits on her fingers.
Her father put his hand on her hair, but she caught his wrist and lifted it
carefully away, talking to him rapidly. I heard the name of old Hata. He
untied the handkerchief, separated her hair with his fingers, and stood
looking down at the green insect. When it began to chirp faintly, he
listened as if it were a beautiful sound.
I picked up the gun he had dropped; a queer piece from the old country,
short and heavy, with a stag's head on the cock. When he saw me examining
it, he turned to me with his far-away look that always made me feel as if I
were down at the bottom of a well. He spoke kindly and gravely, and
Antonia translated:
`My tatinek say when you are big boy, he give you his gun. Very fine, from
Bohemie. It was belong to a great man, very rich, like what you not got
here; many fields, many forests, many big house. My papa play for his
wedding, and he give my papa fine gun, and my papa give you.'
I was glad that this project was one of futurity. There never were such
people as the Shimerdas for wanting to give away everything they had. Even
the mother was always offering me things, though I knew she expected
substantial presents in return.
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