"I am an old man, you'll have to pardon me," he began nagging, "you swallowed your soup in a gulp, but I must take it slowly. I don't like it when people are careless with God's gifts. God gave us bread for sustenance, and look how much of it you have wasted. Look at all the crumbs you scattered. Altogether, I like to do things thoroughly and carefully. It comes out safer in the end. Maybe it annoys you that I am not quick enough, that I can't jump through a hoop, or whatever you call it. Well, what can I do? If you feel like being annoyed, go ahead. I know you will be cross a little while and then forgive the old man. Remember, _you_ are not going to be young always. You will not be jumping through hoops all of your life. Life will give you experience and teach you wisdom. Then you will say, 'Maybe uncle was right after all.' So, my dear, now while you listen to me, you probably think, 'Uncle is no good. Uncle is an old grouch.' But if you live to my old age, you'll pipe a different tune. You'll say, 'Uncle was nice. Uncle was a dear. Uncle taught me right.'" Porfiry Vladimirych crossed himself and swallowed two spoonfuls of soup, then put his spoon down and leaned back in his chair as a sign of an ensuing monologue. "Bloodsucker!" was on the tip of her tongue, but she pulled herself up, poured out a glass of water, and drank it at a gulp. Yudushka sensed her mental state. "So, you don't like it? Well, like it or not, you'd better take uncle's advice. I've been long meaning to talk to you about your hasty way of doing things, but I could not find the time to do it. I don't like that haste in you. There is fickleness in it, a lack of judgment. When you left your old grandmother, you had no business to leave her and cause the old woman anxiety. I really don't see why you did it." "Oh, uncle, why recall it? It's done. It isn't kind of you." "Wait. That's not the point I'm making--kind or unkind--what I want to say is that even when a thing has been done, it can be undone, or done all over again. Not only we mortals, but even God alters His deeds. Now He sends rain, now He sends fair weather. So, suppose--really, the theatre isn't a good place--suppose you decide to stay." "No, uncle, let's not speak about it, I beg of you." "And there's another thing I want to tell you. Your fickleness is bad enough, but what is still worse is the way you slight the advice of your elders. I speak for your own good and you say, 'Let's not speak about it.' Uncle is kind and tender, and you snap at him. But do you know who gave you your uncle? Well, tell me--who?" Anninka looked at him in perplexity.