The name of the little boy who used to carry the newspaper to us in the morning was Törőcsik Palkó. He was a cheerful boy, I used to joke with him sometimes. Once, however, I could not get a word out of him for anything. He quickly put the paper on the table and ran out as if he had been chased. The next day I took the little fellow in for questioning:
- So, Palko, what was your problem yesterday? Did the hen eat your bread?
Palko cocked his head.
- We would have eaten it ourselves if we had it. But there wasn't a bite to eat at the house.
We immediately put a buttered bun in his hand. The child jumped up and put the cake in his pocket.
- I'll take it home. My little sister has never eaten anything like this in her life.
We were well into winter when our hearts fell for the Palko child again. Angry winds blew the roof off the house, snow drizzled, and it was cold to look out of the window, yet the little Smurfy carried the newspaper barefoot. And his feet were like blue post.
There were some worn boots in the pantry.
We gave it to him. The King's velvet boots would not have pleased Palko Törőcsik as much as this. He held it so happily to his heart that it was a joy to watch.
- "You'd better pull him to your feet, Palko," I encouraged the child.
- Then I'll be outside, I'm in a hurry now, because I've got a lot of newspapers to distribute.
The next morning, at the usual time, Palko showed up again, but again barefoot. When I asked him where he had put his boots, he said, blushing from ear to ear:
- I gave it to my brother.
Luckily we managed to find a pair of old boots, and immediately put them on with Palko. On the third day, he came jogging in barefoot again. He also beat his heels against the ground to warm them up a bit. Now I shouted angrily at him:
- Are you out of boots again?
- "I gave it to my other brother," she cried, frightened.
- How many brothers and sisters do you have?
- Hat.
I said nothing. But I took Palko's hand and led him to the boot shop. I bought him a new pair of boots and made him promise not to give them away. No, he didn't dare, he appreciated them so much he even put them under his head for the night. Our spirits rejoiced when we heard the knock of Palko's boots.
- At least the poor child's feet are not cold - we said happily.
One day towards the end of winter, as I look out of the window, I see two children standing at the gate. Two identical Törőcsik children. Only one has boots on his feet, the other has no boots on his feet, but has a big pile of newspapers under his arm. My God, what will become of this?
Well, one of them took off his boots, and the other, our Törőcsik Palink, pulled them on and ran up the stairs.
- 'Hurry up, hey,' cried the other, 'for the clock is nearly eight!
Palko just came in with the newspaper and ran out.
- "Come back, Palko," I called after him, "I want to tell you something!
- "Tomorrow, please," she said, "I'm in a hurry today.
I turned around and called after him. By the time I got to the gate, the other boy had his boots on. Palko was panting pale:
- Don't be angry with me, please. My brother Imre works at the tobacco factory, and they don't let him in barefoot. That's why I gave him the boots. I only put them on when I'm running upstairs to my master's.
This is our Palko Törőcsik. He went through the winter barefoot, even though he had three pairs of boots. I don't know how many of you would do such a thing for your brother!
