Yulia Antonovna had served the Grigoryevs’ household for a long time — Vladimir and Lyudmila. Today, the hosts had gone somewhere, and the maid, having finished all the household chores, sat down to rest by the window. Suddenly, her attention was drawn to a little boy outside. Thin, in tattered clothes, he was wandering along the fence of their property.
“Probably hungry,” sighed Yulia Antonovna, feeling pity for the poor child. Glancing at the large clock in the living room, she decided that the couple wouldn’t return for a while, and went outside.
— What’s your name? — she asked gently, addressing the boy who was studying the street intently. — Vasya, — he replied, looking up at her suspiciously from beneath his messy bangs. — Well, Vasya, let’s go with me. I’ll feed you some fresh apple pie, — suggested the woman, and the boy, without hesitation, followed her. His stomach had been growling with hunger for a long time: he hadn’t eaten anything today.
In the kitchen, Yulia Antonovna carefully cut a large piece of pie and placed the plate in front of the hungry child.
— Oh, it’s so tasty! — exclaimed Vasya, eagerly biting into the soft pastry. — My mom used to bake pies like this! — And where’s your mom? — asked the woman cautiously. The boy froze, stopped chewing, and sadly lowered his eyes. — I’ve been looking for her for a long time… She’s gone, — he said barely above a whisper. — Eat, eat, — Yulia Antonovna gently encouraged him. — Your mom will be found, she definitely will.
At that moment, the front door creaked, and Vladimir and Lyudmila entered the house. The maid jumped, hearing their footsteps.
— Who’s this visiting us? — Vladimir asked, surprised, peering into the kitchen. His eyes widened when he saw the boy. — Who did you bring, Yulia? — he said sternly, addressing the maid. — This child is looking for his mom, he’s hungry, and I decided to feed him, — the woman replied calmly, shrugging her shoulders.
— So now you’re feeding every stray? Does our opinion not matter to you and Lyudmila anymore? — the homeowner fumed.
Vasya, hearing these words, began to cry. — I’ll leave now, — he muttered, placing the unfinished piece of pie back on the plate.
At that point, Lyudmila intervened in the conversation: — Wait, boy, — she said softly. — Tell me, where are you from? Where did you lose your mom?
Lyudmila had always been gentler than her husband. Sometimes Vladimir scolded her for being too kind, but he could never change her nature.
— I live with my granddad, but he’s mean. He’s always scolding me for something, and sometimes he hits me. I ran away from him, — Vasya confessed, pulling a yellowed photograph from his pocket.
— These are my parents. We used to live together, — said the boy, wiping tears from his eyes, and handed the photograph to the hosts.
Lyudmila froze as she took the photo. It was a picture of her daughter, Varya! — Look, Volodya, this is our girl! — she exclaimed, trembling as she passed the picture to her husband.
Vladimir reluctantly took the photograph. — Vasya, how did you get this photo? — he asked in surprise.
— I stole it from my granddad. There’s an address written on the back, so I came here. I thought maybe my mom lives here, — the boy replied, calming down. — Granddad always says my mom is a cuckoo, that she abandoned me. But I don’t believe him!
— It can’t be! It can’t be! — Lyudmila repeated, remembering how their daughter Varya had once run away with a gypsy named Manush. They hadn’t spoken to her for years, but then she came back, only to be in an accident soon after. That day became a nightmare for them, leaving them alone in this big house.
— And where’s your dad? — Vladimir asked. — Dad’s gone. They buried him six months ago, — Vasya cried again.
The couple stood in stunned silence. They had found their grandson! Tired of loneliness, they decided to keep the boy.
— You know, little one, we’ll take you to your room, — said Lyudmila. — Will my mom come? — asked Vasya. — Your mom is with your dad now, — the woman replied sadly.
Vasya turned pale.
After a while, the couple completed the adoption papers. The boy’s grandfather didn’t object when he found out that the wealthy couple might take the boy in.
Yulia Antonovna was happy. Thanks to the day she met the little boy, the hosts became happy. Soon, Vasya was no longer like that poor, hungry vagabond. He was now a well-dressed boy, well-mannered, with a loving family.