-or not?

"Where are you going?" he called to them. They came running. "Only to
meet you, Bacha."

"Well, why did you come to meet me?" His usually rough voice seemed to
sound different. "We were lonesome without you," haltingly admitted
Ondrejko, and presently they sat on the moss carpet at the feet of
Bacha.

"And why, Bacha, were you sitting here so sadly?" Petrik looked
surprisedly at Ondrejko, that he dared to ask. Would not Bacha be
angry?

"Did you think that I was sad?" Bacha stroked the golden hair
surrounding the pale face of the child, which in the sunshine looked
like a halo on a saint.

"And were you not?" The blue eyes of the boy, like two lovely blue
flowers, gazed into the black eagle-like eyes of the man.

"Well, child, I was sad, and you have done well that you came to
meet me. While I rest a while, recite to me the Gospel that you have
learned."

Both boys, one after the other, recited the parable of the rich man
and Lazarus.

"May I ask you, Bacha, to tell me why the rich man did not help
Lazarus?" Petrik dared to ask.

"Why? Because his heart was like a stone. The dogs were better than
he. Remember that, children, and never do any harm to birds or
animals; they are better than we. Now let us go."

Bacha took Ondrejko by the hand and giving his book to Petrik they
walked through the woods toward home. High above them in the clearing
sounded the bells of the flock, and off and on the impatient barking
of Whitie and Playwell, and in between sounded the trumpet of the
youngest herdsman, Stephen. He played with such an ardor that it
seemed the notes were running over;

"Come, come, ye gentle sheep,
Keep out of waters deep;
Pasture on meadows green
Where grass grows sweet and clean."

How the trumpet resounded as if some one were weeping in the woods!
Even the echo seemed to answer in the same way.

The boys liked the beautiful tune. They knew the words of this song,
but Bacha bowed down his proud head as though some great burden were
pressing him down.

After they had finished their simple supper, they sat again as usual
in front of the hut, Bacha on a stump and the boys at his feet. They
were looking one at the other, wondering if they dare ask for some
story. He knew so many of them, and when he was in good humor he knew
very well how to tell good stories.

"I beg, Bacha, will you not tell us something?" Ondrejko finally
asked, and looked at the same time in such a way a