No! No! I've got them now! And I won't give them up! Promise you'll give me four annas! Or else I'll run off to the Talpukur (the lake of palms)." And he began to race away at once. Surama ran close at his heels, crying, as she went, "Stop, stop, you naughty boy! No! Don't do it, there's a dear! Don't please! Do give them up!"
While she was running across the large court-yard facing the pedal-shed, the voice of the postman rang out from the door: "A letter for Bouma (daughter-in-law)!" She hurriedly drew her veil over her loosened hair, and as she put her hand forward from behind the door, Gopal suddenly appeared, and snatched away the letter. He stepped into the yard, letter in hand, and shouted, "Oh, it is addressed to you, Bou-than. Tell me who has written it! Let me open it!" He was all impatience! Who could know what fresh news it had brought! And to wait, letter in hand, without knowing it at once,—could any boy's patience survive such a test? No, he would not wait,—no, no, not for a second! He must know at once. She would first go to her room, then open it, and then read it; and then might or might not show it to him at all. That was not to be endured!
Surama, however, betrayed no such impatience. At the very mention of the letter, her face seemed to grow pale and thin. She made no answer, but quietly put forward her hand and took it. A glance at her face and Gopal instantly grew calm. He could read every expression. He saw there a portent of evil, and his soft liquid eyes instantly grew sad. He probably was never clearly conscious how every pang of hers touched a chord in his heart; but the secret touch of pain in her always checked his high spirits, and cast a shadow on his child-like face.
"I suppose there's nothing funny in that letter?" said Gopal, as he entered the room.
"No," says she.
