Now Olga caught the sound of rapid, anxious whispering.
Suddenly, the heavy ladder propped up against the window of the loft toppled over, breaking some dry branches in its fall and crushing the burdock as it thumped against the ground.
The taut strings leading out through the roof began to quiver.
The frightened kitten scratched Olga's hands as it somersaulted into the nettles.
Bewildered, Olga stopped, glanced around and listened intently.
But neither up the trees, nor beyond the fence, nor behind the dark window of the loft was there anything to be seen or to be heard.
She returned to the porch.
"It's them children up to their tricks again," the milk-woman informed Olga.
"Yesterday they shook all the apples off two trees in our neighbour's garden, and broke some branches off a pear tree too.
Awful brats they are— regular hoodlums.
I saw my boy off to the Army the other day, dearie.
He didn't so much as touch a drop before he went.
'Good-bye, Mum,' he says, and off he goes whistling, the darling.
Towards evening I began to feel sorry for myself, like one does, and so I had a good cry.
I woke up in the night feeling as if somebody was snooping around in the yard.
'Well,' I says to myself, 'here I am all alone in the world now, with not a soul to stand up for me___' It doesn't take much to finish off an old woman like me, you know.
A knock on the head with a brick— and that's the end of me.
God was merciful, though, and nothing was stolen.
They snooped and scratched around a bit and then they made off.
I had a barrel standing in the yard—made out of oak it is, takes three men to shift it—well, this barrel had been shoved off all of twenty yards towards the gate.
And that's all the story.
Who it was and what they wanted I have no idea!"
At twilight, when the house was all cleaned and tidied, Olga stepped out onto the porch.
Carefully, she took a white accordion, her father's birthday gift, from its leather case, placed it on her knee, fastened the strap over her shoulder and began to pick out the tune of a song she had recently heard:
Ah, if only just this once You would come back safe to me! Ah, if only just this—once. . . And the next time. . . And again. . . But you'll never understand Flying fast above the land How long and slow the waiting for your plane! Ah!
Airmen all and pilots!
Bombers all and fighters!
Now you've taken off for far away.
When will you come back to me?
I cannot tell when it will be. Only—come back! Any time—on any day. . . .
As she sang Olga glanced up warily every now and again at a dark clump of bushes near the fence.
Then she rose abruptly, faced the bushes and said in a loud voice:
"Look here!
Why are you hiding there and what do you want?"
A man in an ordinary white suit emerged from behind the bushes.
He inclined his head and replied politely:
"I'm not hiding.
I'm a bit of a singer myself.
I didn't want to disturb you so I stood and listened."
"Yes, but you could have stood and listened from the road.
Why did you have to climb over the fence?"
"Me?
Climb over the fence?" The man was obviously offended. "I beg your pardon, but I'm not a cat.
There's a gap in the fence over there, and I squeezed through it.'"
"I see," said Olga ironically. "Over there, however, is the gate.
Perhaps you will be good enough to squeeze back into the street through it."
The man did as he was told.
Without a word he walked through the gate and bolted it behind him. This pleased Olga.
"Just a moment!" she called, coming down the steps. "Did you say you were a singer?"
"No," he replied. "I'm an engineer, but in my spare time I sing in the operatic society at our works."