Young girls walk alone at night, in the snow, in the mud, in the rain.

They walk seven versts from the city to our place.

Who drives them?
Who pursues them?
They love! You see, theirs is pure love! They believe! Yes, indeed, they believe, Andriusha! But here am I--I can't love like that! I love my own, the near ones!" "Yes, you can!" said the Little Russian, and turning away his face from her, he rubbed his head, face, and eyes vigorously as was his wont.
"Everybody loves those who are near," he continued.

"To a large heart, what is far is also near.

You, mother, are capable of a great deal.
You have a large capacity of motherliness!" "God grant it!" she said quietly.