“And have you got any powder?” Nastya inquired.
“Yes.”
“Show us the powder, too,” she drawled with a smile of entreaty.
Krassotkin dived again into his satchel and pulled out a small flask containing a little real gunpowder. He had some shot, too, in a screw of paper. He even uncorked the flask and shook a little powder into the palm of his hand.
“One has to be careful there’s no fire about, or it would blow up and kill us all,” Krassotkin warned them sensationally.
The children gazed at the powder with an awestricken alarm that only intensified their enjoyment. But Kostya liked the shot better.
“And does the shot burn?” he inquired.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Give me a little shot,” he asked in an imploring voice.
“I’ll give you a little shot; here, take it, but don’t show it to your mother