Fragments of prose from the classics for reading by heart. Selection of texts for the competition `Living Classics` (prose)

List of works for memorization and definition of the genre of the work the teacher exercises independently according to the author's program.

An excerpt of a work (poetic) for grades 5-11 must be a complete semantic text equal to at least 30 lines; prosaic text - 10-15 lines (grades 5-8), 15-20 lines (grades 9-11). Texts for memorizing from dramatic work determined by the form of the monologue.

1. A.S. Pushkin. " Bronze Horseman"(Excerpt" I love you, Peter's creation ... ")

2. I. S. Turgenev. Fathers and Sons (excerpt)

3. I.S. Goncharov. "Oblomov" (excerpt)

4. A. N. Ostrovsky. "Thunderstorm" (excerpt: one of the monologues)

5. F.I. Tyutchev. "Oh, how destructively we love ..."

6. N.A. Nekrasov. "Poet and Citizen" (excerpt "The son cannot look calmly ..."); "You and I are stupid people ...", "Who lives well in Russia?" (excerpt)

7. A.A. Fet. "Dear friend, understand my sobs ..."

8. A.K. Tolstoy. "Amid a noisy ball by accident ..."

9.L.N. Tolstoy. "War and Peace" (excerpt)

10. A. Rembo. "Cupboard"

Alexander Pushkin."I love you, Peter's creation" (from the poem "The Bronze Horseman")

I love you, Peter's creation,

I love your strict, slender look,

The sovereign current of the Neva,

Coastal granite

A cast-iron pattern of your fences,

Of your brooding nights

Transparent dusk, moonless shine,

When I'm in my room

I write, I read without an icon lamp,

And the sleeping masses are clear

Deserted streets, and light

Admiralty needle,

And, not letting the darkness of the night

To the golden skies

One dawn to change another

Hurries, giving the night half an hour.

I love your cruel winters

Stagnant air and frost

Sled run along the wide Neva,

Maiden faces are brighter than roses

And the shine, and the noise, and the talk of balls,

And at the hour of the feast I am single

The hiss of frothy glasses

And the punch is a flame blue.

I love the warlike liveliness

Amusing fields of Mars,

Infantry men and horses

Monotonous beauty

In their slender, unsteady ranks

The rags of these victorious banners,

The shining of these brass hats,

Shot through and through in battle.

I love, the military capital,

Thunder and smoke of your stronghold

When the full-bodied queen

Grants a son to the royal house,

Or victory over the enemy

Russia triumphs again

Or cracking your blue ice

The Neva carries it to the seas

And, sensing spring days, rejoices.

Flaunt, city of Petrov, and stay

Unwavering like Russia

Let it be reconciled with you

And the defeated element;

Ancient enmity and captivity

Let the Finnish waves forget

And they will not be vain malice

Disturb Peter's eternal sleep!

I.S.Turgenev... Fathers and Sons (excerpt)

And now I repeat to you goodbye ... because there is nothing to deceive: we say goodbye forever, and you yourself feel it ... you acted wisely; you are not created for our bitter, tart, booble * life. In you there is neither insolence nor anger, but there is young courage and young enthusiasm; this is not good for our business. Your brother, a nobleman, cannot go further than noble humility or noble boil, and this is nothing. You, for example, do not fight - and you already imagine yourself to be fine fellows - but we want to fight. Yes what! Our dust will eat your eyes, our dirt will stain you, but you have not grown up to us, you involuntarily admire yourself, it is pleasant for you to scold yourself; but we are bored - give us others! we need to break others! You are a nice guy; but you are still a little, liberal barich - eh volatu, as my parent puts it.

Are you saying goodbye to me forever, Eugene? - said Arkady sadly, - and you have no other words for me?

Bazarov scratched the back of his head.

There is, Arkady, I have other words, only I will not express them, because this is romanticism - it means: to crumble *. And you get married as soon as possible; Yes, get your own nest, and make more children. They will be smart just because they will be born on time, not like you and me.

NOTES:

* BOBYL- bachelor, bachelor, celibate, lonely, heartless, familyless.

* DRINK and loosen up, loosen up, loosen up - loosen up, fall into a sentimental mood.

I.S. Goncharov."Oblomov" (excerpt)

No, - Olga interrupted, raising her head and trying to look at him through her tears. - I only found out recently that I loved in you what I wanted to be in you, what Stolz pointed out to me, what we invented with him. I loved the future Oblomov! You are meek, honest, Ilya; you are gentle ... a dove; you hide your head under the wing - and you want nothing more; you are ready to coo under the roof all your life ... but I am not like that: this is not enough for me, I need something else, but I don’t know what! Can you teach me, say what it is, what I lack, give it all, so that I ... And tenderness ... where it is not!

Oblomov's legs gave way; he sat down in a chair and wiped his hands and forehead with a handkerchief.

The word was cruel; it deeply wounded Oblomov: inside it seemed to burn him, outside it blew cold on him. In response, he smiled somehow pitifully, painfully, shyly, like a beggar who was reproached with his nakedness. He sat with that smile of helplessness, weakened by excitement and resentment; his extinguished look clearly said: "Yes, I am poor, pitiful, poor ... beat, beat me! .."

Who cursed you, Ilya? What did you do? You are kind, smart, gentle, noble ... and ... you are perishing! What killed you? There is no name for this evil ...

Yes, ”he said, barely audible.

She looked inquiringly at him with tearful eyes.

Oblomovism! - he whispered, then took her hand, wanted to kiss, but could not, only pressed it tight to his lips, and hot tears dripped onto her fingers.

Without raising his head, without showing her face, he turned and walked.

A.N. Ostrovsky."Thunderstorm" (excerpt: one of the monologues)

Katerina's monologue.

I say, why do people not fly like birds? You know, sometimes it seems to me that I am a bird. When you stand on a mountain, you are drawn to fly. So I would have scattered, raised my hands and flew ...

How frisky I was! I have wilted completely ...

Was I that way! I lived without grieving about anything, like a bird in the wild. Mamma doted on me, she dressed me up like a doll, did not force me to work; I do what I want. Do you know how I lived in girls? I'll tell you now. I used to get up early; If in the summer, I'll go to the spring, wash, bring some water with me, and that's it, I'll water all the flowers in the house. I had many, many flowers. Then we will go with mamma to church, all of them are pilgrims — our house was full of pilgrims; yes praying mantis. And we will come from church, sit down for some work, more on velvet in gold, and the wanderers will begin to tell: where have they been, what they have seen, different lives, or they are singing verses. So the time will pass until lunchtime. Here the old women will fall asleep, and I walk in the garden. Then to Vespers, and in the evening again stories and singing. It was so good!

Kuligin's monologue.

Cruel manners, sir, in our city, cruel! In philistinism, sir, you will see nothing but coarseness and naked poverty. And we, sir, will never get out of this crust! Because honest work will never earn us more daily bread... And whoever has money, sir, is trying to enslave the poor so that he can earn even more money from his free labors. Do you know what your uncle, Savel Prokofich, answered the mayor? The peasants came to the mayor to complain that he would not disappoint any of them. The governor began to say to him: “Listen, he says, Savel Prokofich, you can count on the peasants well! Every day they come to me with a complaint! " Your uncle patted the mayor on the shoulder, and even said: “Is it worth it, your honor, to talk to you about such trifles! I have a lot of people every year; You must understand: I will not pay them a penny per person, but I make thousands of this, so it is good for me! " Here's how, sir!

F.I. Tyutchev."Oh, how destructively we love ..."

Oh how destructively we love

We are most likely to destroy

What is dear to our heart!

For a long time, proud of their victory,

You said: she's mine ...

A year has not passed - ask and bring it down

What has survived from her?

Where do the roses go

The smile of the lips and the sparkle of the eyes?

They scorched everything, burned out tears

With its hot moisture.

Do you remember when you meet

At the first meeting fatal,

Her eyes are magical, her speeches

And the laughter is infant-living?

So what now? And where is all this?

And was the dream long lasting?

Alas, like a northern summer

He was a passing guest!

Fate is a terrible sentence

Your love was for her

And an undeserved shame

She lay down on her life!

A life of renunciation, a life of suffering!

In her deepest soul

She had memories ...

But they also changed one.

And on earth she became wild,

The charm is gone ...

The crowd, rushing into the mud, trampled

That which bloomed in her soul.

And what about the long torment,

How did she manage to save ashes?

Angry pain, pain of bitterness,

Pain without consolation and without tears!

Oh, how destructively we love!

As in the wild blindness of passions

We are most likely to destroy

What is dearer to our heart! ..

N.A. Nekrasov."Poet and Citizen" (excerpt "The son cannot look calmly ...")

The son cannot look calmly

On the mother's grief,

There will be no worthy citizen

I am cold in my soul to the homeland,

There is no bitter reproach to him ...

Go into the fire for the honor of the fatherland,

For conviction, for love ...

Go and perish blamelessly.

You will not die for nothing, the matter is solid,

When blood flows underneath ...

And you, poet! the chosen one of the sky,

Herald of age-old truths,

Do not believe that he who does not have bread

Not worth your prophetic strings!

Do not believe that people will fall at all;

God did not die in soul of people,

And a cry from a believing chest

Will always be available to her!

Be a citizen! serving art,

Live for the good of your neighbor

Submitting your genius to feeling

All-embracing Love;

And if you are rich in gifts,

Do not bother to exhibit them:

They will shine in your work

Their life-giving rays.

Look: solid stone into shards

The poor worker crushes,

And from under the hammer flies

And the flame sprinkles by itself!

N.A. Nekrasov."You and I are stupid people ..."

You and I are stupid people:

In a minute, the flash is ready!

Relief of an agitated chest

An unreasonable, harsh word.

Speak when you're angry

Everything that excites and torments the soul!

Let us, my friend, be angry openly:

The easier the world - and more likely to get bored.

If prose in love is inevitable

So let's take a share of happiness from her:

After a fight so full, so tender

The return of love and affection.

N.A. Nekrasov."Who lives well in Russia?" (excerpt)

You and wretched

You are abundant

You and mighty

You are powerless

Mother Russia!

Saved in slavery

Free heart -

Gold, gold

The heart of the people!

Strength of the people,

A mighty force -

A calm conscience

The truth is tenacious!

Strength with unrighteousness

Doesn't get along

Sacrifice of unrighteousness

Not called,

Russia does not budge

Russia - as killed!

And caught fire in her

The hidden spark

They got up - not bugged,

They went out - not asked,

Grain by grain

The mountains are worn!

The host rises

Innumerable!

The strength in it will affect

Unbreakable!

You and wretched

You are abundant

You and downtrodden

You are omnipotent

Mother Russia!

A.A. Fet."Dear friend, understand my sobs ..." ("A. L. Brzheskoy")

Dear friend, understand my sobs

Forgive me my painful cry.

With you, memories bloom in my soul,

And I have not lost the habit of cherishing you.

Who will tell us that we did not know how to live,

Soulless and idle minds

That kindness and tenderness did not burn in us

And we didn’t sacrifice beauty?

Where is all this? The soul is still burning

Still ready to embrace the world.

Waste heat! Nobody is answering,

Sounds will resurrect - and they will freeze again.

You are the only one! High excitement

There is blood in the cheeks, and inspiration in the heart. -

Get away from this dream - there are too many tears in it!

It's not a pity for life with an agonizing breath,

What is life and death? It's a pity that fire

That shone over the whole universe,

And he walks into the night, and cries, leaving.

A.K. Tolstoy."Amid a noisy ball by accident ..."

Amid a noisy ball, by chance,

In the anxiety of worldly vanity,

I saw you, but a mystery

Your features were covered.

Like the ringing of a distant pipe,

Like a playing shaft of the sea.

I liked your waist thin

And all your brooding look

And your laugh, both sad and sonorous,

Since then, it sounds in my heart.

In the hours of lonely nights

I love, tired, to lie down -

I see sad eyes

I hear cheerful speech;

And sadly I fall asleep

And in the dreams of the unknown I sleep ...

Do I love you - I don't know

But it seems to me that I love!

Leo Tolstoy... "War and Peace" (excerpt)

In captivity, in a booth, Pierre learned not with his mind, but with his whole being, life, that man was created for happiness, that happiness is in himself, in the satisfaction of natural human needs, and that all misfortune comes not from lack, but from surplus; but now, in these last three weeks of the campaign, he learned a new, consoling truth - he learned that there is nothing terrible in the world. He learned that since there is no position in which a person would be happy and completely free, there is no position in which he would be unhappy and not free. He learned that there is a border of suffering and a border of freedom, and that this border is very close; that the man who suffered because one leaf was wrapped in his pink bed suffered just as he suffered now, falling asleep on the bare, damp earth, cooling one side and warming the other; that when he used to put on his narrow ballroom shoes, he suffered in the same way as now, when he walked already barefooted (his shoes had long been disheveled), his feet covered with sores. He learned that when he, as it seemed to him, of his own free will married his wife, he was no more free than now, when he was locked up for the night in the stable. Of all that later he called suffering, but which he almost did not feel then, the main thing was his bare, worn out, chilled feet.

A.Rembo."Cupboard"

Here old wardrobe carved, whose oak is streaked with dark

He began to resemble good old people for a long time;

The closet is thrown open, and haze from all secluded corners

The enticing smell pours like old wine.

Full, full of everything: junk heap,

Nice smelling yellow linen,

Granny's kerchief, where there is an image

Griffin, lace, and ribbons, and rags;

Here you will find medallions and portraits,

Strand white hair and a strand of a different color,

Children's clothes, dried flowers ...

About the wardrobe of the old days! A bunch of stories

And you keep a lot of fairy tales

Behind this blackened and creaky door.

Texts for the competition "Living Classics"

"But what if?" Olga Tikhomirova

It rained in the morning. Alyoshka jumped over the puddles and walked quickly - quickly. No, he wasn't late for school at all. He just noticed Tanya Shibanova's blue hat from a distance.

You can't run: you're out of breath. And she might think she was running after her all the way.

Nothing, he will catch up with her anyway. Catch up and say ... Just what to say? More than a week since they quarreled. Or maybe take it and say: "Tanya, let's go to the cinema today?" Or maybe give her a smooth black pebble that he brought from the sea? ...

What if Tanya says: “Take away, Vertisheev, your cobblestone. What do I need him for ?! "

Alyosha slowed down, it was, a step, but, glancing at the blue cap, he hurried again.

Tanya walked calmly and listened to the rustling of cars on the wet pavement. So she looked around and saw Alyoshka, who was just jumping over a puddle.

She walked more quietly, but did not look back. It would be nice if he caught up with her near the front garden. They would have gone together, and Tanya would have asked: "Do you know, Alyosha, why some maples have red leaves, while others have yellow leaves?" Alyoshka will look, look and ... Or maybe he won't look at all, but will only mutter: “Read, Shiba, books. Then you will know everything. " After all, they quarreled ...

There was a school around the corner of a big house, and Tanya thought that Alyoshka would not have time to catch up with her. We need to stop. But you can't just get up in the middle of the sidewalk.

In the big house there was a store "Clothes", Tanya went to the window and began to examine the mannequins.

Alyoshka came up and stood beside him ... Tanya looked at him and smiled a little ... "Now he will say something," thought Alyoshka and, in order to get ahead of Tanya, said:

Oh, it's you, Shiba .. Hello ...

Hi, Vertisheev, - she snapped.

Shipilov Andrey Mikhailovich " True story»

Vaska Petukhov came up with such a device, you press the button - and everyone around only begins to speak the truth. Vaska made this device and brought it to school. Marya Ivanovna comes into the classroom and says: - Hello, guys, I'm very glad to see you! And Vaska on the button - one! “And if it’s true,” continues Marya Ivanovna, “then I’m not at all happy, why should I be happy? I'm sick of you worse than a bitter radish in two quarters! You teach you, you teach you, you put your soul into you - and there is no gratitude. Tired of it! I will not stand on ceremony with you anymore. Just a couple!

And at recess, Kosichkina comes up to Vaska and says: - Vaska, let's be friends with you. - Come on, - says Vaska, and he himself on the button - once! - Only I'm not just going to be friends with you, - Kosichkina continues, but with a specific purpose. I know your uncle works at Luzhniki; so when " Ivanushki - international"or Philip Kirkorov will perform again, then you will take me with you to the concert for free.

Vaska felt sad. He walks around school all day, presses a button. Until the button is pressed, everything is fine, but as soon as you press it, it starts! ..

And after lessons - new Year's Eve... Santa Claus enters the hall and says: - Hello, guys, I am Santa Claus! Vaska on a button - one! - Although, - continues Santa Claus, - in fact, I am not Santa Claus at all, but a school watchman Sergei Sergeevich. The school has no money to hire a real artist for the Dadmorozov role, so the director asked me to speak for time off. One performance is half time off. Only, I think I miscalculated, I had to take not half, but a whole day off. What do you guys think?

Vaska felt very bad at heart. Comes home sad, sad. - What happened, Vaska? - asks mom, - you don't have a face at all. - Yes, so, - says Vaska, - nothing special, just disappointment in people overtook me. - Oh, Vaska, - my mother laughed, - how funny you are; how I love you! - Truth? - Vaska asks, - and he himself on the button - One! - Truth! - Mom laughs. - True true? - says Vaska, and he presses the button even harder. - True true! - Mom answers. - Well, then that's what, - says Vaska, - I love you too. Very very!

"The groom from 3 B" Postnikov Valentin

Yesterday afternoon, in math class, I firmly decided that it was time for me to get married. And what? I am already in the third grade, but I still don't have a bride. When, if not now. A couple more years and the train left. Dad often says to me: At your age, people already commanded a regiment. And it is true. But first I must get married. I told my best friend Petka Amosov about this. He sits with me at the same desk.

– You are absolutely right, - said Petka resolutely. - We will choose a bride for you at a big break. From our class.

At recess, the first thing he and I did was compiled a list of brides and began to think about whom I should marry.

– Marry Svetka Fedulova, says Petka.

– Why on Svetka? - I was surprised.

– Freak! She's an excellent student, - says Petka. - You will cheat on her all your life.

– No, I say. - Svetka is reluctant. She was a crammer. Lessons will force me to teach. He will dart around the apartment, like a groovy one and whine in a disgusting voice: - Learn your lessons, learn your lessons.

– Cross out! - Petka said resolutely.

– Or maybe I should marry Soboleva? I ask.

– On Nastya?

– Well, yes. She lives next to the school. It's convenient for me to see her off, - I say. - Not like Katka Merkulova - she lives behind the railway. If I marry her, why should I drag myself so far away all my life? My mother does not allow me to walk in that area at all.

– That's right, - Petka shook his head. - But Nastya's dad doesn't even have a car. But Masha Kruglova does. A real Mercedes, you will ride it to the movies.

– But Masha is fat.

– Have you ever seen a Mercedes? - asks Petka. - Three Masha will fit in there.

– Yes, that's not the point, - I say. - I don't like Masha.

– Then let's marry you on Olga Bublikova. Her grandmother cooks - you will lick your fingers. Do you remember when Bublikova treated us to grandmother's pies? Oh, and delicious. You won't be lost with such a grandmother. Even in old age.

– Happiness is not in pies, - I say.

– And what is it? - Petka is surprised.

– I would like to marry Varka Koroleva, - I say. - Blimey!

– And what about Varka? - Petka is surprised. - No fives, no Mercedes, no grandmother. What kind of wife is this?

– For that she has beautiful eyes.

– Well, you give it, - Petka laughed. - The most important thing in a wife is a dowry. This is also the great Russian writer Gogol said, I myself heard. And what kind of dowry is this - the eyes? Laughter, and nothing more.

– You don’t understand anything, ”I waved my hand. - The eyes are the dowry. The best!

That was the end of it. But I didn’t change my mind. Know so!

Victor Golyavkin. Unlucky

One day I come home from school. On that day, I just got a deuce. I walk around the room and sing. I sing and sing so that no one would think that I got a deuce. And then they will ask more: "Why are you gloomy, why are you brooding?"

Father says:

- What is he singing like that?

And mom says:

- He probably has fun mood, so he sings.

Father says:

- Probably got an A, that's fun for a man. It's always fun when you do something good.

As I heard it, I sang even louder.

Then the father says:

- Okay, Vovka, please your father, show the diary.

Then I immediately stopped singing.

- What for? - I ask.

- I see, - says the father, - you really want to show the diary.

He takes the diary from me, sees there a deuce and says:

- Surprisingly, got a deuce and sings! Is he out of his mind? Come on, Vova, come here! Do you, by any chance, have a temperature?

- I have no, - I say, - no temperature ...

The father threw up his hands and said:

- Then you need to be punished for this singing ...

That's how unlucky I am!

Parable "What you have done will come back to you"

In the early twentieth century, a Scottish farmer was returning home and walking past a marshland. Suddenly he heard cries for help. The farmer rushed to the rescue and saw the boy, who was being sucked into its terrible abysses by the swamp mud. The boy tried to climb out of the terrible mass of the swamp bog, but his every movement sentenced him to imminent death. The boy screamed. from despair and fear.

The farmer quickly chopped down a fat bitch, careful

approached and held out a saving branch to the drowning man. The boy got out to safety. He was trembling, he could not stop tears for a long time, but the main thing - he was saved!

- Come to my house, - the farmer suggested to him. - You need to calm down, dry up and warm up.

- No, no, - the boy shook his head, - dad is waiting for me. He's very worried, I guess.

Looking gratefully into the eyes of his savior, the boy ran away ...

In the morning, the farmer saw that a rich carriage pulled up by luxurious thoroughbred horses drove up to his house. A richly dressed gentleman got out of the carriage and asked:

- Did you save my son's life yesterday?

- Yes, I am, ”the farmer replied.

- How much do I owe you?

- Don't hurt me, lord. You don't owe me anything, because I did what a normal person should have done.

The class froze. Izabella Mikhailovna bent over the magazine and finally said:
- Rogov.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and closed their textbooks. And Rogov went out to the board, scratched himself and for some reason said:
- Look good today, Izabella Mikhailovna!
Izabella Mikhailovna took off her glasses:
- Well, well, Rogov. Get started.
Rogov sniffed and began:
- Your hair is neat! Not like mine.
Izabella Mikhailovna got up and walked over to the world map:
- Haven't you learned your lesson?
- Yes! - Rogov exclaimed with fervor. - I confess! Nothing can be hidden from you! The experience of working with children is colossal!
Izabella Mikhailovna smiled and said:
- Oh, Rogov, Rogov! Show me where Africa is.
“There,” said Rogov and waved his hand out the window.
- Well, sit down, - Isabella Mikhailovna sighed. - Three ...
At recess, Rogov gave interviews to his comrades:
- The main thing is to start this kikimore about eyes ...
Izabella Mikhailovna was just passing by.
- Ah, - Rogov reassured his comrades. - This deaf grouse does not hear more than two steps.
Izabella Mikhailovna stopped and glanced at Rogov so that Rogov understood that the grouse could hear more than two steps.
The next day Isabella Mikhailovna again called Rogov to the board.
Rogov turned white as a sheet and croaked:
- You called me yesterday!
- And I want more, - said Isabella Mikhailovna and screwed up her eyes.
- Eh, you have such a dazzling smile, - Rogov mumbled and fell silent.
- What else? Isabella Mikhailovna asked dryly.
“You also have a pleasant voice,” Rogov squeezed out of himself.
“So,” said Isabella Mikhailovna. “You haven't learned your lesson.
“You see everything, you know everything,” said Rogov languidly. - And for some reason they went to school, on people like me, ruin your health. You should go to the sea now, write poetry, meet a good man ...
Bowing her head, Izabella Mikhailovna thoughtfully ran a pencil over the paper. Then she sighed and said quietly:
- Well, sit down, Rogov. Troika.

KOTINA KIND Fyodor Abramov

Nikolai K., nicknamed Kotya-glass, was dashing enough in the war. The father is at the front, the mother is dead, and they don’t take them to the orphanage: they have a dear uncle. True, my uncle is disabled, but good deed(tailor) - what does he need to warm an orphan?

The uncle, however, did not warm the orphan, and the sonfront-line soldier often fed from the garbage. Gathers up potato peels, cook in a canning roomanke on a small fire by the river, in which sometimes it will be possible to catch some gudgeon, and so he lived.

After the war, Kotya served in the army, built a house, started a family, and then took his uncle to him -that by that time he was completely decrepit, in his nineties

passed.

Uncle Kotya did not refuse anything. What he ate with his family, so his uncle in the cup. And he didn't even take a glass, if when he himself received communion.

- Eat, drink, uncle! I don’t forget my relatives, ”Kotya would say every time.

- Do not forget, do not forget, Mikolayushko.

- Are you offended in terms of food and drink?

- Not offended, not offended.

- Then he saw a helpless old man?

- I got it, I got it.

- But how did you not take me into the war? The newspapers write that other people's children were taken for upbringing, because the war. People's. Do you remember how they sang in the song? "There is a war of the people, a holy war ..." But am I really a stranger to you?

- Oh, oh, the truth is yours, Mikolayushko.

- Don’t ooh! Then I had to groan when I was rummaging in a cesspool ...

Kotya ended the table conversation usually with a tear:

- Well, uncle, uncle, thanks! The dead father would bow to your feet if he returned from the war. After all, he thought, son of a Yevon, a miserable orphan, under his uncle's wing, and the crow warmed me with its wing more than my uncle. Do you understand this with your old head? After all, moose and those from wolves protect small moose, and you are not a moose. You are a dear uncle ... Eh! ..

And then the old man began to wail in a voice. Exactly two months in this way, day after day, Kotya raised his uncle, and in the third month his uncle hanged himself.

Excerpt from the novel Mark Twain "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn"

I closed the door behind me. Then I turned and looked - here he is, dad! I was always afraid of him - he tore me very well. My father was about fifty years old, and apparently no less than that. His hair is long, unkempt and dirty, hanging in braids, and only his eyes shine through them, as if through bushes. There is no blood in the face - it is completely pale; but not as pale as that of other people, but such that it is scary and disgusting to look at - like a fish belly or like a frog. And the clothes are sheer rags, there is nothing to look at. I stood and looked at him, and he looked at me, swaying slightly in his chair. He examined me from head to toe, then says:
- Look how you dressed up - fu-you, well, you! I suppose you think you're an important bird now, is that it?
“Maybe I’m thinking, maybe not,” I say.
- Look, you are not very rude! - Got some foolishness while I was gone! I will quickly deal with you, I will knock you off your arrogance! He, too, has become educated - they say you can read and write. Do you think your father is no match for you now, since he is illiterate? I'll knock it all out of you. Who told you to gain stupid nobility? Tell me, who told you to?
- The widow said.
- Widow? That's how it is! And who allowed the widow to poke her nose into other matters?
- Nobody allowed.
- Okay, I'll show her how to meddle, where she is not asked! And you, look, leave your school. Do you hear? I'll show them! We learned the boy to turn up his nose in front of his own father, he let himself become so important! Well, if only I see you hanging around this very school, stay with me! Your mother could neither read nor write, she was so illiterate and died. And all your relatives died illiterate. I can neither read nor write, but he, look, what a dandy he has dressed up! I'm not the kind of person I am to endure this, do you hear? Come on, read it, I'll listen.
I took the book and started reading something about General Washington and about the war. Less than half a minute later, he grabbed at the book with his fist, and she flew across the room.
- Right. You can read. And I didn't believe you. Look at me, stop asking, I will not tolerate this! Follow
I’ll be you, a dandy, and if I only catch near this very
schools, I’ll lower my skin! I will pour you in - you will not have time to come to your senses! Good son, there is nothing to say!
He picked up a blue and yellow picture of a boy with cows and asked:
- What is this?
- They gave it to me because I study well. He tore the picture and said:
- I'll give you something too: a good belt!
He muttered and grumbled something under his breath for a long time, then said:
- Just think, what a sissy! And his bed, and sheets, and a mirror, and a carpet on the floor - and his own father should be lying in the tannery with the pigs! Good son, there is nothing to say! Well, yes, I will quickly deal with you, I will vybyb all the nonsense! Look, you assumed the importance ...

Earlier I didn’t like to study, but now I decided that
I will certainly go to school, to spite my father.

SWEET WORK Sergey Stepanov

The boys sat at a table in the courtyard and languished with idleness. It’s hot to play football, but it’s a long way to go to the river. And so already two times today went.
Dimka came up with a bag of sweets. He gave each of them a candy and said:
- Here you are playing the fool, and I got a job.
- What kind of work?
- Taster at a confectionery factory. Here's a job to take home.
- Are you serious? - the boys got excited.
- Well, you see.
“What’s your job there?”
- I'm trying sweets. How are they made? Pour into a large vat a bag of granulated sugar, a bag of milk powder, then a bucket of cocoa, a bucket of nuts ... And if someone pours an extra kilogram of nuts? Or vice versa...
“Quite the opposite,” someone put in.
- We must, in the end, try what happened. We need a person with good taste. And they themselves cannot eat it. Not what they have - they can no longer look at these sweets! Therefore, they have automatic lines everywhere. And the result is brought to us, the tasters. Well, we will try and say: everything is fine, you can take it to the store. Or: but here it would be nice to add raisins and make a new variety called "Zyu-zyu".
- Wow, great! Dimka, and you ask, do they still need tasters?
- I will ask.
- I would go to the section of chocolates. I am well versed in them.
- And I agree with caramel. Dimka, do they pay wages there?
- No, they only pay with sweets.
- Dimka, let's come up with a new kind of sweets now, and you will offer them tomorrow!
Petrov came up, stood beside him for a while and said:
- Who are you listening to? Did he deceive you a little? Dimka, confess: you are hanging on your ears!
“You’re always like that, Petrov. You’ll come and ruin everything.” You won't let me dream.

Ivan Yakimov "Strange Procession"

In the fall, on Nastaseya the sheepfold, when they fed the shepherds in the yards - they thanked them for saving the cattle - the ram disappeared from Mitrokha Vanyugin. I looked, I looked for Mitrokh, there is no ram anywhere, even kill it. He began to walk from house to house. He visited five hosts, and then directed his feet to Makrida and Epifan. He comes in, and the whole family is eating fatty mutton soup, only spoons flicker.

Bread and salt, - says Mitrokha, looking sideways at the table.

Come in, Mitrofan Kuzmich, you will be a guest. Sit down soup with us, - invite the owners.

Thanks. Did they kill the ram?

Thank God, they stabbed him, enough for him to save up fat.

And I won’t put my mind to where the ram could have disappeared, ”Mitrokha sighed and after a pause asked:“ Did he come to you by chance?

Or maybe he did, you need to look in the barn.

Or maybe he got under the knife? - the guest narrowed his eyes.

Maybe he got under the knife, - the owner answers, not at all embarrassed.

Don’t joke, Epifan Averyanovich, you’re not in the dark, tea, butchering a ram, you must distinguish your own from someone else's.

Yes, these rams are all gray, like wolves, who can take them apart, Macrida said.

See the skin. I recognize my ram in a row.

The owner carries the skin.

Well, exactly, my ram! - rushed from the bench Mitrokh. - There is a black spot on the back, and on the tail, look, the hair is singed: Manyokha is blind, she burned it with a torch when she gave it to drink. - Well it turns outrowing in the middle of the day?

Sorry, Kuzmich, not on purpose. At the very door he stood beside himself, who knew him that he was yours, - the owners shrug their shoulders. - Don't tell anyone, for God's sake. Take our ram and the business is over.

No, not the end! - jumped Mitrokha. - Your ram is wretched, a lamb against mine. Turn my ram!

How can you get it back if it's half eaten? - the owners are perplexed.

Rotate everything that is left, pay for the rest of the money.

An hour later, a strange procession was moving from the house of Makrida and Epifan to the house of Mitrokha in front of the whole village .. Ahead was walking, leaning on his right leg, Epiphanes with a ram skin under his arm, Mitrokha with a bag of mutton on his shoulder was walking importantly behind him, and Makrida closed the procession ... She minced with cast iron in her outstretched arms - carrying half-eaten soup from Mitrokhin's ram. The ram, although disassembled, returned to the owner again.

Bobik visiting Barbos N. Nosov

Bobik saw a scallop on the table and asked:

What kind of saw you have?

What a saw! This is a scallop.

And what is he for?

Oh you! - said Watchdog. - It is immediately evident that he lived in a kennel for the whole century. Do you know what a scallop is for? Comb your hair.

How does it feel to comb your hair?

The watchdog took the comb and began to comb the hair on his head:

Here's how to comb your hair. Go to the mirror and brush your hair.

Bobik took the comb, went to the mirror and saw his reflection in it.

Listen, - he shouted, pointing to the mirror, - there is some kind of dog!

Why, it's you yourself in the mirror! - Watchdog laughed.

Like me? I’m here, and there’s another dog. Watchdog also went to the mirror. Bobik saw his reflection and shouted:

Well, now there are two of them!

Well no! - said Watchdog. - These are not two of them, but two of us. They are there in the mirror, lifeless.

How are they dead? - Bobby shouted. - They're moving!

What a weirdo! - answered Watchdog. - We are moving. You see, there is one dog that looks like me! - That's right, it looks like! - Bobby was delighted. Just like you!

And the other dog looks like you.

What you! - answered Bobby. - There is some nasty dog, and its paws are crooked.

The same paws as yours.

No, you are deceiving me! I put some two dogs there and you think I'll believe you, - said Bobby.

He began combing his hair in front of the mirror, then suddenly he laughs:

Look, this weirdo in the mirror is combing his hair too! What a scream!

Watchdogonlysnorted and stepped aside.

Victor Dragunsky "Topsy-turvy"

Once I sat, sat and for no apparent reason suddenly thought of such a thing that I was even surprised myself. I figured out how nice it would be if everything around in the world were arranged the other way around. Well, for example, so that children are the main thing in all matters and adults should have to obey them in everything, in everything. In general, so that adults are like children, and children are like adults. That would be great, it would be very interesting.

Firstly, I imagine how my mother would “like” such a story, that I walk around and command it as I want, and dad would also “like it”, but there is nothing to say about my grandmother. Needless to say, I would have remembered everything to them! For example, my mother would sit at lunch, and I would tell her:

“Why did you start a fashion without bread? Here's more news! Look at yourself in the mirror, who do you look like? Poured Koschey! Eat now, they tell you! - And she would eat with her head down, and I would only give the command: - Faster! Do not hold it by the cheek! Thinking again? Are you solving world problems? Chew it well! And don't sway in your chair! "

And then dad would come in after work, and he would not even have time to undress, and I would have shouted:

“Aha, he came! We must wait for you forever! My hands now! As it should, as it should be mine, there is no need to smear the dirt. It's scary to look at the towel after you. Brush three and do not regret the soap. Come on, show your nails! This is horror, not nails. They're just claws! Where are the scissors? Don't twitch! I do not cut with any meat, but I cut it very carefully. Don't sniffle, you're not a girl ... That's it. Now sit down at the table. "

He would sit down and quietly tell his mother:

"Well, how are you?"

And she would also say quietly:

"Nothing, thanks!"

And I would immediately:

“Conversations at the table! When I eat, I am deaf and dumb! Remember this for the rest of your life. Golden Rule! Dad! Put down the newspaper now, you are my punishment! "

And they would sit like silk with me, and when my grandmother came, I would squint, clasp my hands and shout:

"Dad! Mama! Admire our granny! What is the view! The coat is open, the hat is on the back of the head! The cheeks are red, the whole neck is wet! Nice, there is nothing to say. Admit it, I played hockey again! And what is this dirty stick? Why did you bring her into the house? What? It's a hockey stick! Get her out of my eyes now - to the back door! "

Then I would walk around the room and tell them all three:

"After lunch, all sit down for lessons, and I'll go to the movies!"

Of course, they would immediately whine and whine:

“And we are with you! And we also want to go to the cinema! "

And I would:

“Nothing, nothing! Yesterday we went to your birthday, on Sunday I took you to the circus! Look! Enjoyed the fun every day. Sit at home! Here's thirty kopecks for ice cream, that's all! "

Then the grandmother would have prayed:

“Take me at least! After all, every child can take one adult with him for free! "

But I would dodge, I would say:

“And people after seventy years of age are not allowed to enter this picture. Stay at home, gulena! "

And I would have walked past them, deliberately tapping loudly with my heels, as if I did not notice that their eyes were all wet, and I would start getting dressed, and spin in front of the mirror for a long time, and hum, and this would make them even worse tormented, but I would open the door to the stairs and say ...

But I didn’t have time to think of what I would say, because at that time my mother came in, the most real, alive, and said:

- You are still sitting. Eat now, see who you look like? Poured Koschey!

Gianni Rodari

Questions inside out

Once upon a time there was a boy who did nothing for days on end, pestering everyone with questions. In this, of course, there is nothing wrong, on the contrary, curiosity is a commendable thing. But the trouble is that no one was able to answer this boy's questions.
For example, he comes one day and asks:
- Why do the boxes have a table?
Of course, people only opened their eyes in surprise or, just in case, answered:
- Boxes are used to put something in them. Well, let's say dining utensils.
“I know what the boxes are for. But why do the drawers have tables?
People shook their heads and hurried to leave. Another time he asked:
- Why does the tail have a fish?
Or more:
- Why does a mustache have a cat?
People shrugged their shoulders and rushed to leave, because everyone had their own business.
The boy was growing up, but he still remained why, and not simple, but why inside out. Even as an adult, he walked around and pestered everyone with questions. It goes without saying that no one, not a single person, could answer them. Completely desperate, why little man went inside out to the top of the mountain, built himself a hut, and invented more and more new questions there at large. He invented, wrote them down in a notebook, and then racked his brains, trying to find the answer. However, he never answered any of his questions in his life.
And how could he answer if in his notebook it was written: "Why does the shadow have a pine tree?" "Why aren't the clouds writing letters?" "Why stamps do not drink beer? "The exertion gave him headaches, but he did not pay attention to it and kept inventing and inventing his endless questions. Little by little he grew a long beard, but he did not even think about cutting it. Instead, he came up with new question: "Why does a beard have a face?"
In a word, he was an eccentric, which is not enough. When he died, a scientist began to research his life and made an amazing scientific discovery. It turned out that this little man from childhood was used to putting on stockings inside out and wearing them like that all his life. He had never been able to put them on properly. Therefore, until his death, he could not learn to ask the right questions.
And look at your stockings, did you put them on correctly?

SENSITIVE COLONEL O. Henry

The sun is shining brightly and the birds are singing merrily on the branches. Peace and harmony are spread throughout nature. At the entrance to a small suburban hotel a newcomer sits and, quietly smoking a pipe, is waiting for the train.

But a tall man in boots and a hat with wide brims drooping down comes out of the hotel with a six-round revolver in his hand and shoots. The man on the bench rolls down with a loud yell. The bullet scratched his ear. He leaps to his feet in amazement and rage and yells:
- Why are you shooting at me?
A tall man approaches with a wide-brimmed hat in his hand, bows and says:
- P "oshu p" osseniya, se ". I am Colonel Jay, se", it seemed to me that you osco "fucking me, se", but I see that I was mistaken. Very "hell that didn't kill you, sir".
- I insult you - with what? - breaks out from the visitor. - I didn't say a single word.
- You knocked on the bench, sir ", as if you wanted to say that you are a woodpecker,
se ", and I - p" and belong to d "uguy by" ode. I see now that you are n 'osto
beating the ashes out of your "ubka, se". P "Oshu you have n" sensation, se ", and also that you go and de" zeros with me for a glass, se ", in order to show that you have no sediment on your soul n" from the gentleman who is " "I apologize to you, sir."

"MONUMENT OF SWEET CHILDHOOD" O. Henry

He was old and weak, and the sand in the hours of his life was almost gone. He
walked with irregular strides along one of Houston's most fashionable streets.

He left the city twenty years ago, when the latter was little more than a village dragging out a half-impoverished existence, and now, tired of wandering around the world and full of an agonizing desire to look again at the places where his childhood passed, he returned and found that a bustling business city had grown on the site of the home of his ancestors.

He searched in vain for some familiar object that could remind him of days gone by. Everything has changed. There,
where his father's hut stood, the walls of a slender skyscraper towered; the wasteland where he played as a child was built up with modern buildings. Splendid lawns stretched on either side, running up to the luxurious mansions.

Suddenly, with a cry of joy, he lunged forward with renewed vigor. He saw in front of him - untouched by the hand of a man and unchanged by time - an old familiar object around which he ran and played as a child.

He stretched out his arms and rushed towards him with a deep sigh of contentment.
He was later found sleeping with a quiet smile on his face on an old rubbish heap in the middle of the street - the only monument to his sweet childhood!

Eduard Uspensky "Spring in Prostokvashino"

Once a parcel arrived to Uncle Fedor in Prostokvashino, and there was a letter in it:

“Dear Uncle Fyodor! Your beloved aunt Tamara, a former colonel of the Red Army, is writing to you. It's time for you to start farming - both for education and for the harvest.

Carrots should be planted at attention. Cabbage - in a line after one.

Pumpkin - on command "at ease". It is desirable near an old dump. The pumpkin will "suck out" the entire trash and become huge. The sunflower grows well away from the fence so that neighbors do not eat it. Tomatoes should be planted leaning against sticks. Cucumbers and garlic require constant fertilization.

I read it all in the charter of the agricultural service.

I bought seeds in glasses at the market and poured everything into one bag. But you will figure it out on the spot.

Do not get carried away by gigantism. Remember the tragic fate of Comrade Michurin, who died falling from a cucumber.

Everything. We kiss you with the whole family. "

Uncle Fyodor was horrified by such a package.

He selected a few seeds for himself, which he knew well. He planted sunflower seeds in a sunny place. I planted pumpkin seeds near the trash heap. And that's all. Soon everything grew delicious, fresh, like in a textbook.

Marina Druzhinina. CALL YOU WILL SING!

On Sunday we drank tea and jam and listened to the radio. As always at this time, radio listeners in live congratulated their friends, relatives, bosses on their birthday, wedding day or something else significant; told how wonderful they were, and asked them to perform for these wonderful people good songs.

- One more call! - the announcer proclaimed once again gleefully. - Hello! We are listening to you! Whom are we going to congratulate?

And then ... I couldn't believe my ears! The voice of my classmate Vladyka rang out:

- This is Vladislav Nikolayevich Gusev speaking! Congratulations to Vladimir Petrovich Ruchkin, 6th grade student "B"! He got an A in math! First in this quarter! And in general the first! Pass for him best song!

- Great congratulations! - the announcer admired. - We join these warm words and wish dear Vladimir Petrovich that the aforementioned five was not the last in his life! And now - "Twice two - four"!

The music started playing, and I almost choked on my tea. It's no joke - they sing a song in my honor! After all, Ruchkin is me! Moreover, Vladimir! And even Petrovich! And in general, in the sixth "B" I study! Everything matches! Everything except the top five. I didn't get any A's. Never. And in my diary I had something exactly the opposite.

- Vovka! Did you get the top five ?! - Mom jumped out from the table and rushed to hug and kiss me. - Finally! I dreamed about it so much! Why were you silent? How humble! And Vladik is a real friend! How happy for you! Even congratulated on the radio! Five must be celebrated! I'll bake something delicious! - Mom immediately kneaded the dough and began to sculpt pies, humming merrily: "Twice two - four, twice two - four."

I wanted to shout that Vladik is not a friend, but a bastard! Everything is lying! There was no five! But the language did not turn at all. No matter how hard I tried. Mom was very happy. I never thought that my mother's joy has such an effect on my tongue!

- Well done, son! - Dad waved the newspaper. - Show me the five!

- We have collected diaries, - I lied. - Maybe tomorrow they will hand it out, or the day after tomorrow ...

- OK! When they are distributed, then we will admire! And let's go to the circus! And now I'm running off to get some ice cream for all of us! - Dad ran away like a whirlwind, and I rushed into the room, to the phone.

Vladik answered the phone.

- Hey! chuckles. - Did you listen to the radio?

- Are you completely crazy? I hissed. - Parents lost their heads here because of your stupid jokes! And to me to disentangle! Where can I get them an A?

- How is it where? - Vladik answered seriously. - Tomorrow at school. Come to me right now to do your homework.

Gritting my teeth, I went to Vladik. What else was left for me? ..

In general, for two whole hours we solved examples, problems ... And all this instead of my favorite thriller "Cannibal Watermelons"! Nightmare! Well, Vladyka, wait a minute!

The next day, at a mathematics lesson, Alevtina Vasilievna asked:

- Who wants to do homework at the blackboard?

Vladik poked me in the side. I gasped and raised my hand.

First time in life.

- Ruchkin? - Alevtina Vasilievna was surprised. - Well, you are welcome!

And then ... Then a miracle happened. I decided and explained everything correctly. And in my diary, a proud five glowed! Honestly, I had no idea that getting A's was so nice! Who does not believe, let him try ...

On Sunday we, as always, drank tea and listened

the program "Call, they will sing to you." Suddenly, the radio began to mumble again in Vladkin's voice:

- Congratulations to Vladimir Petrovich Ruchkin from the sixth "B" with an A in Russian! Please pass on the best song for him!

What-oh-oh-oh ?! Only the Russian language was not enough for me yet! I shuddered and looked at my mother with desperate hope - maybe I didn't hear. But her eyes were shining.

- What are you clever at me! - Mama exclaimed happily smiling.

Marina Druzhinina story "Horoscope"

The teacher sighed and opened the magazine.

Well, "dare, now emboldened"! Or rather, Ruchkin! Please list the birds that live on the edges of the forest, in open places.

That's the number! I never expected this! Why me? I shouldn't be called today! The horoscope promised "to all Sagittarius, and therefore to me, incredible luck, unrestrained fun and a rapid rise in the career ladder."

Maria Nikolaevna may change her mind, but she looked at me expectantly. I had to get up.

Only here's what to say - I had no idea, because I did not teach the lessons - I believed the horoscope.

Oatmeal! - Redkin whispered in my back.

Oatmeal! - I repeated mechanically, not trusting Petka too much.

Right! - the teacher was delighted. - There is such a bird! Come on!

“Well done Redkin! Correctly suggested! All the same, I have a lucky day! The horoscope did not disappoint! " - joyfully flashed through my head, and I, without any doubt, in one breath blurted out after the saving Petkin's whisper:

Millet! Semolina! Buckwheat! Pearl barley!

An explosion of laughter drowned out the "pearl barley". And Maria Nikolaevna shook her head reproachfully:

Ruchkin, you are probably very fond of porridge. But what does the bird have to do with it? Sit down! "Two"!

I was downright boiled with indignation. I showed

Redkin fist and began to think how to take revenge on him. But retribution immediately overtook the villain without my participation.

Redkin, go to the board! ”Ordered Maria Nikolaevna. - You, it seems, whispered something to Ruchkin also about dumplings, okroshka. These are also, in your opinion, birds of open places?

No! ”Petka grinned. - I was joking.

It is wrong to suggest - vile! It's much worse than not learning a lesson! - the teacher was indignant. - I'll have to talk to your mom. Now name the birds - relatives of the crow.

There was silence. Redkin was clearly not in the know.

Vladik Gusev felt sorry for Petka, and he whispered:

Rook, jackdaw, magpie, jay ...

But Redkin, apparently, decided that Vladik was taking revenge on him for his friend, that is, for me, and was suggesting incorrectly. After all, everyone judges for himself - I read about it in the newspaper ... In general, Redkin waved his hand to Vladik: they say, shut up, and announced:

The crow, like any other bird, has a lot of relatives. This is mom, dad, grandmother - an old crow, - grandfather ...

Here we just howled with laughter and fell under the desks. Needless to say, the unbridled fun was a success! Even a deuce did not spoil the mood!

It's all?! Maria Nikolaevna asked menacingly.

No, not everything! - Petka did not calm down. - The crow still has aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers, nephews ...

Enough! - shouted the teacher. - "Two" And so that tomorrow all your relatives come to school! Oh, what am I saying! ... Parents!

(Martynov Alyosha)

1.Viktor Golyavkin. As I sat under the desk (Volikov Zakhar)

Only the teacher turned to the blackboard, and I once - and under the desk. As the teacher will notice that I have disappeared, he will probably be terribly surprised.

I wonder what he thinks? He will ask everyone where I have gone - that will be a laugh! Already half a lesson has passed, and I'm still sitting. “When,” I think, “will he see that I’m not in class?” And it's hard to sit under a desk. My back ached even. Just try to sit like this! I coughed - no attention. I can’t sit any longer. Moreover, Seryozhka pokes me in the back with his foot all the time. I could not stand it. Didn't sit until the end of the lesson. I get out and say: - Sorry, Pyotr Petrovich ...

The teacher asks:

- What's the matter? Do you want to go to the board?

- No, excuse me, I was sitting under the desk ...

- Well, how is it comfortable to sit there, under the desk? You sat very still today. That's how it would always be in the classroom.

3. The story "Find" by M. Zoshchenko

Once Lelya and I took a box of chocolates and put a frog and a spider in it.

Then we wrapped this box in clean paper, tied it with a chic blue ribbon and put this bag on a panel opposite our garden. As if someone was walking and lost their purchase.

Putting this package near the curbstone, Lelya and I hid in the bushes of our garden and, choking with laughter, began to wait for what would happen.

And here comes a passer-by.

Seeing our package, he, of course, stops, rejoices, and even rubs his hands with pleasure. Still: he found a box of chocolates - this is not so often in this world.

With bated breath, Lelya and I are looking at what will happen next.

The passer-by bent down, took the package, quickly untied it and, seeing the beautiful box, was even more delighted.

And now the lid is open. And our frog, bored of sitting in the dark, jumps out of the box right onto the hand of a passer-by.

He gasps in surprise and tosses the box away from him.

Here Lelya and I began to laugh so hard that we fell on the grass.

And we laughed so loudly that the passer-by turned in our direction and, seeing us behind the fence, immediately understood everything.

In an instant, he rushed to the fence, jumped over it in one fell swoop and rushed to us to teach us a lesson.

Lelya and I asked a snitch.

We screeched across the garden to the house.

But I stumbled over the garden bed and stretched out on the grass.

And then a passerby tore off my ear quite hard.

I screamed loudly. But the passer-by, giving me two more flip-flops, calmly left the garden.

Our parents came running to the scream and noise.

Holding my reddened ear and sobbing, I went up to my parents and complained to them about what had happened.

My mother wanted to call a janitor to catch up with a passerby and arrest him with the janitor.

And Lelya had already rushed after the janitor. But dad stopped her. And he said to her and my mother:

- Don't call the janitor. And there is no need to arrest a passer-by. Of course, it’s not the case that he tore off Minka by the ears, but in the place of a passerby, I probably would have done the same.

Hearing these words, mom got angry with dad and said to him:

- You are a terrible selfish!

And Lelya and I were also angry with dad and did not say anything to him. I just rubbed my ear and cried. And Lelka whimpered too. And then my mom, taking me in her arms, said to dad:

- Instead of interceding for a passer-by and thus bringing the children to tears, you would better explain to them what is wrong with what they have done. Personally, I do not see this and I regard everything as innocent child's play.

And dad couldn’t find an answer. He only said:

- Now children grow up big and someday they themselves will find out why this is bad.

4.

BOTTLE

Just now on the street some young boy broke a bottle.

Something he was carrying. I do not know. Kerosene or gasoline. Or maybe lemonade. In a word, some kind of soft drink. Time is hot. I feel thirsty.

So, this guy walked, gape and knocked the bottle onto the sidewalk.

And such, you know, dullness. There is no way to shake the pieces off the sidewalk with your foot. No! Broke, damn it, and went on. And other passers-by, therefore, walk on these fragments. Very nice.

I then deliberately sat down on the chimney at the gate, I see what will happen next.

I see people walking on glass. Curses, but walks. And such, you know, dullness. Not a single person finds a public duty to fulfill.

Well, what is it worth? Well, I would take it to stop for a couple of seconds and shake the fragments off the sidewalk with the same cap. So no, they are walking by.

“No, I think they are cute! We still do not understand social tasks. Let's go through the glass. "

And then, I see, some guys stopped.

- Oh, they say, it's a pity that there aren't many barefoot people today. And then, they say, that would be great to run into.

And suddenly a man walks.

A completely simple, proletarian-looking man.

This man stops around this broken bottle. Shakes her sweet head. Grunting, he bends down and sweeps the pieces aside with a newspaper.

“That, I think, is great! In vain I grieved. The consciousness of the masses has not cooled yet. "

And suddenly a policeman comes up to this gray, common man and scolds him:

- What are you, he says, a chicken head? I ordered you to take away the fragments, and you pour it aside? Since you are the janitor of this house, you must free your area from your extra glasses.

The janitor, muttering something to himself, went into the yard and a minute later appeared again with a broom and a tin spatula. And he began to clean up.

And for a long time, until they drove me away, I sat on the pedestal and thought about all the nonsense.

And you know, perhaps the most surprising thing in this story is that the policeman ordered to clean up the windows.

I was walking down the street ... I was stopped by a beggar, decrepit old man.

Sore, tearful eyes, blue lips, rough rags, unclean wounds ... Oh, how hideously poverty has devoured this unfortunate creature!

He held out to me a red, swollen, dirty hand ... He moaned, he bellowed for help.

I began to fumble in all my pockets ... Not a wallet, not a watch, not even a scarf ... I took nothing with me.

And the beggar waited ... and his outstretched hand swayed and trembled weakly.

Lost, embarrassed, I firmly shook this dirty, trembling hand ...

- Do not seek, brother; I have nothing, brother.

The beggar fixed his sore eyes at me; his blue lips grinned - and he, in turn, squeezed my cold fingers.

- Well, brother, - he mumbled, - and thanks for that. This is alms too, brother.

I realized that I too had received a donation from my brother.

12. The Goat's Tale by Twark Maine

We left early in the morning. Fofan and I were seated in the back seat and we began to look out the window.

Dad drove carefully, did not overtake anyone and told Fofan and me about the rules road traffic... Not about how and where you have to cross the road so that you don't get run over. And about how to go so as not to run over anyone.

You see, the tram stopped - dad said. “And we have to stop to let the passengers pass. And now, when they have passed, you can get under way. But this sign means that the road will narrow and instead of three lanes, only two will remain. Let's look to the right, to the left, and if there is no one, we will rebuild.

Fofan and I listened, looked out the window and I felt my legs and arms move by themselves. As if it was me and not my dad who were driving.

Pa! - I said. - Will you teach Fofan and me to drive a car?

Dad was silent for a little.

Actually, this is an adult business - he said. - If you grow up a little and then be sure.

We began to approach the turn.

But this yellow square gives us the right to pass first. - Dad said. - The main road. There is no traffic light. Therefore, we show the turn and ...

He did not have time to leave until the end. On the left there was a roar of an engine and a black "ten" swept past our car. She twisted back and forth twice, creaked with the brakes, blocked our way and stopped. A young guy in a blue uniform jumped out of it and walked quickly towards us.

Did you break something ?! - scared my mother. - Will you be fined now?

Yellow square - Dad said in confusion. - The main road. I didn't break anything! Maybe he wants to ask something?

Dad lowered the glass, and the guy almost ran to the door. He bent down and I saw that his face was angry. Or not, not even evil. He looked at us as if we were the biggest enemies in his life.

What are you doing, asshole !? he shouted so loudly that Fofan and I shuddered. - You threw me into the oncoming lane! Well, goat! Who taught you to ride like that? Who am I asking? They'll put, damn it, behind the wheel of goats! It's a pity, I'm not on duty today, I would have written you out! What are you staring at?

All four of us silently looked at him, and he kept yelling and yelling through the word repeating "goat". Then he spat on the wheel of our car and went to his "top ten". DPS was written on his back in yellow letters.

The black "ten" screeched its wheels, jerked off like a rocket and sped away.

We sat for a while in silence.

Who is that? Mom asked. - Why is he so nervous?

Fool Because Absolutely - I answered. - DPS. And he was nervous because he was driving fast and almost crashed into us. It's his own fault. We drove right.

My brother was also yelled at last week, ”Fofan said. - And the traffic police is a road patrol service.

He himself is to blame and yelled at us? - said my mother. - Then it's not DPS. This is HAM.

How does this translate? I asked.

No way - my mother answered. - Ham, he is a boor.

Dad started the car and we drove on.

Got upset? Mom asked. - Do not. You were driving the right way, right?

Yes, my dad replied.

Well, forget it, my mother said. - You never know boors in the world. Whether in form or without form. Well, the parents saved on raising him. So this is their problem. He's probably yelling at them as well.

Yes - dad answered again.

Then he fell silent and did not say another word all the way to the dacha.

13.V. Suslov "BIT"

A sixth-grader stepped on an eighth-grader's foot.

By chance.

In the dining room for pies without a queue, he climbed - and stepped on.

And got a slap on the head.

The sixth grader jumped to a safe distance and said:

- Dilda!

A sixth grader was upset. And I forgot about the pies. I went out of the dining room.

I met a fifth-grader in the corridor. I gave him a slap on the head - it became easier. Because if they gave you a slap on the head, and you can't give it to anyone, then it's really very insulting.

- Strong, huh? - the fifth grader frowned. And he stomped in the other direction along the corridor.

I walked past the ninth grader. I followed the seventh grader. Met a boy from the fourth grade.

And gave him a slap on the head. For the same reason.

Further, as you yourself might guess, according to the ancient proverb "there is strength - no mind is needed", a third grader received a slap on the head. And he also did not keep it with him - he weighed a second grader.

And why would a second grader get a slap on the head? To nothing at all. He sniffed and ran to look for the first grader. Whom else? Do not give elders a slap on the head!

I feel sorry for the first grader most of all. He has a hopeless situation: he can't run from school to Kindergarten fight!

The first grader became thoughtful from the slap on the head.

Dad met him at home.

Asks:

- Well, what did our first grader get today?

- Yes, - he answers, - I got a slap on the head. And no marks were put.

(Krasavin)

Anton Pavlovich ChekhovCUSTOMERS
A couple of newly married spouses strolled back and forth on the dacha platform. He held her by the waist, and she pressed against him, and both were happy. Because of the cloudy scraps, the moon looked at them and frowned: probably, she was envious and annoyed at her boring, useless virginity. The still air was thickly saturated with the smell of lilac and bird cherry. Somewhere, on the other side of the rails, a corncrake was shouting ...
- How good, Sasha, how good! - said the wife. - Really, you might think that all this is dreaming. Look how cozy and affectionate this forest looks! How lovely these solid, silent telegraph poles are! They, Sasha, enliven the landscape and say that out there, somewhere, there are people ... civilization ... But don't you like it when the wind weakly carries the noise of a passing train to your ears?
- Yes ... What, however, your hands are hot! This is because you are worried, Varya ... What did we have for dinner today?
- Okroshka and chicken ... Chicken is enough for two of us. They brought you sardines and balyk from the city.
The moon, as if sniffing tobacco, hid behind a cloud. Human happiness reminded her of her loneliness, lonely bed behind the forests and valleys ...
“The train is coming!” Said Varya. - How good!
Three fiery eyes appeared in the distance. The head of the station walked out onto the platform. Signal lights flashed here and there on the rails.
- Let's see the train and go home, - said Sasha and yawned.
The dark monster silently crept up to the platform and stopped. Sleepy faces, hats, shoulders flashed in the half-lit carriage windows ...
- Ah! Oh! - I heard from one car. - Varya and her husband came out to meet us! Here they are! Varenka! .. Varechka! Oh!
Two girls jumped out of the carriage and hung around Varya's neck. Behind them appeared a plump, elderly lady and a tall, skinny gentleman with gray cisterns, then two schoolboys loaded with luggage, a governess behind the schoolboys, and a grandmother behind the governess.
- And here we are, and here we are, my friend! - began the gentleman with the tanks, shaking Sasha's hand. - Tea, I was waiting! I suppose he scolded my uncle for not going! Kolya, Kostya, Nina, Fifa ... children! Kiss your cousin Sasha! All to you, all the brood, and for three or four days. Hope not shy? You, please, without ceremony.
Seeing the uncle with the family, the couple were horrified. While his uncle was talking and kissing, a picture flashed through Sasha's imagination: he and his wife were giving guests their three rooms, pillows, blankets; balyk, sardines and okroshka are eaten in one second, cousins ​​pick flowers, spill ink, make noise, auntie talks for days about her illness (tapeworm and pain in the stomach) and that she is a born Baroness von Fintich ...
And Sasha was already looking at his young wife with hatred and whispering to her:
- They came to you ... devil take them!
- No, to you! - She answered, pale, also with hatred and malice. - These are not mine, but your relatives!
And turning to the guests, she said with a friendly smile:
- Welcome!
The moon came out from behind the cloud again. She seemed to be smiling; she seemed pleased that she had no relatives. And Sasha turned away to hide his angry, desperate face from the guests, and said, giving his voice a joyful, complacent expression: - You are welcome! Welcome, dear guests!

An excerpt from the story
Chapter II

My mommy

I had a mommy, affectionate, kind, sweet. Mommy and I lived in small house on the banks of the Volga. The house was so clean and light, and from the windows of our apartment one could see the wide, beautiful Volga, and huge two-story steamers, and barges, and a pier on the shore, and crowds of walking people who went out to this pier at certain hours to meet the arriving steamers ... And Mom and I went there, only rarely, very rarely: Mom gave lessons in our city, and she was not allowed to walk with me as often as I would like. Mom said:

Wait, Lenusha, I'll save up some money and transfer you along the Volga from our Rybinsk all the way to Astrakhan! Then we'll walk up to our heart's content.
I was happy and waited for spring.
By the spring, mom saved up a little money, and we decided to fulfill our idea with the very first warm days.
- As soon as the Volga is cleared of ice, we will roll with you! - Mom said, affectionately stroking my head.
But when the ice broke, she caught a cold and began to cough. The ice passed, the Volga cleared up, and mommy kept coughing and coughing endlessly. She became somehow thin and transparent, like wax, and she kept sitting by the window, looking at the Volga and repeating:
- Here the cough will pass, I will recover a little, and we will ride with you to Astrakhan, Lenusha!
But the cough and cold did not go away; the summer was damp and cold this year, and mom was getting thinner, paler and more transparent every day.
Autumn has come. September came up. Long lines of cranes stretched over the Volga, flying to warm countries. Mom no longer sat by the window in the living room, but lay on the bed and shivered from the cold all the time, while she herself was hot as fire.
Once she called me over to her and said:
- Listen, Lenusha. Your mom will soon leave you forever ... But do not grieve, darling. I will always look at you from the sky and rejoice at the good deeds of my girl, and ...
I did not let her finish and cried bitterly. And mummy also began to cry, and her eyes became sad, sad, the same exactly like that of the angel whom I saw on the big image in our church.
Having calmed down a little, Mom spoke again:
- I feel that the Lord will soon take me to Himself, and His holy will be done! Be a clever girl without a mother, pray to God and remember me ... You will go to live with your uncle, my brother, who lives in Petersburg ... I wrote to him about you and asked him to shelter an orphan ...
Something hurt, hurt at the word "orphan" squeezed my throat ...
I sobbed, cried and huddled at my mother's bed. Maryushka came (the cook, who lived with us for nine whole years, from the very year of my birth, and who loved my mother and me without memory) and took me to her place, saying that "mother needs peace."
All in tears I fell asleep that night on Maryushka's bed, and in the morning ... Oh, what happened in the morning! ..
I woke up very early, it seems, at six o'clock, and wanted to run straight to my mother.
At that moment Maryushka entered and said:
- Pray to God, Lenochka: God took your mother to him. Your mom died.
- Mom died! I echoed.
And suddenly I felt so cold, cold! Then my head began to rustle, and the whole room, and Maryushka, and the ceiling, and the table, and chairs - everything turned upside down and began to spin in my eyes, and I no longer remember what became of me after that. I think I fell to the floor unconscious ...
I woke up when my mother was already lying in a large white box, in a white dress, with a white wreath on her head. An old gray priest read prayers, the singers sang, and Maryushka prayed at the threshold of the bedroom. Some old women came and also prayed, then they looked at me with regret, shook their heads and mumbled something with their toothless mouths ...
- Orphan! Round orphan! - also shaking her head and looking at me pityingly, Maryushka said and cried. The old ladies also cried ...
On the third day Maryushka took me to the white box in which Mommy was lying and told me to kiss Mommy's hand. Then the priest blessed Mom, the singers sang something very sad; some men came up, closed the white box and carried it out of our house ...
I cried out loud. But then the old women familiar to me arrived in time, saying that they were carrying Mommy to be buried and that there was no need to cry, but to pray.
They brought the white box to the church, we defended the mass, and then again some people came up, lifted the box and carried it to the cemetery. A deep black hole had already been dug there, and Mom's coffin had been lowered into it. Then they threw earth at the pit, put a white cross over it, and Maryushka took me home.
On the way, she told me that in the evening she would take me to the station, put me on a train and send me to Petersburg to my uncle.
“I don’t want to see my uncle,” I said gloomily, “I don’t know any uncle and I’m afraid to go to him!”
But Maryushka said that she was ashamed to tell the big girl that way, that Mom hears it and that my words hurt her.
Then I became quiet and began to recall my uncle's face.
I have never seen my St. Petersburg uncle, but there was a portrait of him in my mom's album. He was depicted on it in a gold embroidered uniform, with many orders and with a star on his chest. He looked very important, and I was involuntarily afraid of him.
After dinner, which I barely touched, Maryushka put all my dresses and underwear in an old suitcase, gave me tea and took me to the station.

Lydia Charskaya
NOTES OF A LITTLE GYMNASIST

An excerpt from the story
Chapter XXI
To the sound of the wind and the whistle of a blizzard

The wind whistled, squealed, groaned and hummed in different ways. Now in a pitiful thin voice, now in a rough bass roll he sang his battle song. The lanterns flickered faintly through the huge white flakes of snow that poured abundantly on the sidewalks, on the street, on carriages, horses and passers-by. And I kept walking and walking, everything forward and forward ...
Nyurochka told me:
“You first have to go through a long big street, on which there are such tall houses and luxurious shops, then turn right, then left, then right again and left again, and then everything goes straight, right to the very end - to our house. You will immediately recognize him. It is near the cemetery itself, there is also a white church ... so beautiful. "
I did so. Everything went straight, as it seemed to me, along a long and wide street, but I did not see either high buildings or luxurious shops. Everything was obscured from my eyes by a white, like a shroud, living loose wall of silently falling huge flakes of snow. I turned right, then left, then right again, doing everything with precision, as Nyurochka told me - and everything went, went, went without end.
The wind mercilessly ruffled the floors of my burnusik, piercing me through and through with cold. Flakes of snow hit the face. Now I was not walking as fast as before. My legs were like lead filled with fatigue, my whole body was trembling with cold, my hands were numb, and I could hardly move my fingers. Having turned right and left for almost the fifth time, I now followed a straight path. Quietly, faintly flickering lights of lanterns came across to me less and less ... The noise from the ride of horses and carriages in the streets subsided considerably, and the path along which I walked seemed to me deaf and deserted.
Finally the snow began to thin; the huge flakes didn't fall so often now. The distance cleared up a little, but instead it was such a dense twilight all around me that I could barely make out the road.
Now no driving noise, no voices, no coachman's exclamations could be heard around me.
What silence! What a dead silence! ..
But what is it?
My eyes, already accustomed to the semi-darkness, now distinguish their surroundings. Lord, where am I?
No houses, no streets, no carriages, no pedestrians. In front of me is an endless, huge snowy space ... Some forgotten buildings along the edges of the road ... Some fences, and in front there is something huge, black. It must be a park or a forest - I don't know.
I turned back ... Lights flicker behind me ... lights ... lights ... How many of them! Endlessly ... without counting!
- Lord, this is a city! The city, of course! I exclaim. - And I went to the outskirts ...
Nyurochka said that they live on the outskirts. Yes of course! That which is getting dark in the distance is the cemetery! There is a church, and, before reaching, their house! Everything, everything turned out as she said. And I was scared! That's silly!
And with joyful animation I again walked briskly forward.
But it was not there!
My feet now hardly obeyed me. I could hardly move them out of fatigue. The incredible cold made me tremble from head to toe, my teeth chattered, my head was noisy, and something hit my temples with all its might. Added to all this was a strange drowsiness. I was so sleepy, so sleepy!
"Well, well, a little more - and you will be with your friends, you will see Nikifor Matveyevich, Nyura, their mother, Seryozha!" - I mentally encouraged myself as best I could ...
But that didn't help either.
My legs barely moved, I now with difficulty pulled them, now one, then the other, out of the deep snow. But they move more and more slowly, more and more ... quieter ... And the noise in my head becomes more and more audible, and more and more something hits my temples ...
Finally, I can't stand it and sink into a snowdrift that has formed at the edge of the road.
Oh, how good! How sweet it is to rest so! Now I feel neither fatigue nor pain ... Some kind of pleasant warmth spreads throughout my body ... Oh, how good it is! I would have sat here and not gone anywhere from here! And if it had not been for the desire to find out what happened to Nikifor Matveyevich, and to visit him, healthy or sick, - I would certainly have fallen asleep here for an hour or two ... Deeply asleep! Moreover, the cemetery is not far ... You can see it there. A verst or two, no more ...
The snow stopped falling, the blizzard subsided a little, and the month swam out from behind the clouds.
Oh, it would be better if the month did not shine and I would not know at least the sad reality!
No cemetery, no church, no houses - there is nothing ahead! .. Only the forest turns black with a huge black spot far away, but the white dead field spreads around me in an endless veil ...
Horror gripped me.
Now I just realized that I was lost.

Lev Tolstoy

Swans

Swans flew in a flock from the cold side to warm lands... They flew across the sea. They flew day and night, and on another day and another night they flew without resting over the water. It was a full month in the sky, and the swans, far below them, saw the blue water. All the swans were starving, flapping their wings; but they did not stop and flew on. Old, strong swans flew in front, those that were younger and weaker flew behind. One young swan flew behind everyone. His strength weakened. He flapped his wings and could not fly further. Then he spread his wings and went down. He descended closer and closer to the water; and his companions farther and farther gleamed in the monthly light. The swan descended into the water and folded its wings. The sea stirred under him and shook him. The herd of swans was slightly visible as a white line in the bright sky. And you could barely hear in the silence how their wings rang. When they were completely out of sight, the swan bent back its neck and closed its eyes. He did not move, and only the sea, rising and falling in a wide strip, raised and lowered him. Before dawn, a light breeze began to sway the sea. And the water splashed into the white chest of the swan. The swan opened his eyes. In the east, the dawn turned red, and the moon and the stars became paler. The swan sighed, stretched out his neck and flapped his wings, got up and flew, catching his wings on the water. He climbed higher and higher and flew alone over the dark undulating waves.

Paulo Coelho
Parable "The Secret of Happiness"

One merchant sent his son to learn the Secret of Happiness from the wisest of all people. The young man walked for forty days through the desert and,
finally, he came to the beautiful castle, which stood on the top of the mountain. There also lived the sage he was looking for. However, instead of the expected meeting with a wise man, our hero found himself in a hall where everything was seething: merchants entered and exited, people talked in the corner, a small orchestra played sweet melodies and there was a table laden with the most exquisite dishes of this area. The sage talked to by different people, and the young man had to wait about two hours for his turn.
The sage listened attentively to the young man's explanations about the purpose of his visit, but said in response that he did not have time to reveal the Secret of Happiness to him. And he invited him to walk around the palace and come back two hours later.
“However, I want to ask you for one favor,” added the sage, holding out a small spoon to the young man, into which he dropped two drops of oil. - All the time you walk, hold this spoon in your hand so that the oil does not spill out.
The young man began to climb and descend the palace stairs, not taking his eyes off the spoon. Two hours later, he returned to the sage.
- Well, - he asked, - have you seen the Persian carpets that are in my dining room? Have you seen the park that the head gardener has been creating for ten years? Have you noticed the beautiful parchments in my library?
The embarrassed young man had to admit that he had not seen anything. His only concern was not to spill the drops of oil that the sage had entrusted to him.
“Well, come back and see the wonders of my universe,” the sage told him. - You cannot trust a person if you are not familiar with the house in which he lives.
Reassured, the young man took a spoon and again went for a walk around the palace; this time, paying attention to all the works of art hung on the walls and ceilings of the palace. He saw gardens surrounded by mountains, the most delicate flowers, the refinement with which each of the works of art was placed exactly where it was needed.
Returning to the sage, he described in detail everything that he saw.
- And where are those two drops of oil that I entrusted you? The Sage asked.
And the young man, looking at the spoon, found that all the oil had poured out.
- This is the only advice that I can give you: The Secret of Happiness is to look at all the wonders of the world, while never forgetting about two drops of oil in your spoon.

Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "NEVOD"

And again, once again, the net brought a rich catch. The fishermen's baskets were filled to the brim with chubs, carp, tench, pike, eel and many other foods. Whole fish families
with children and households, were taken to market stalls and were preparing to end their existence, writhing in agony in hot pans and boiling boilers.
The fish remaining in the river, confused and overwhelmed by fear, not daring to even swim, buried themselves deeper into the silt. How to live on? You cannot cope with the seine alone. It is thrown in the most unexpected places every day. He mercilessly kills fish, and in the end the whole river will be devastated.
- We must think about the fate of our children. No one, except us, will take care of them and will not relieve them of a terrible obsession, - reasoned the minnows, who had gathered for a council under a large snag.
“But what can we do?” The tench asked timidly, listening to the speeches of the daredevils.
- Destroy the seine! - the minnows answered in a single impulse. On the same day, the omniscient nimble eels spread the news along the river
about the bold decision taken. All fish, young and old, were asked to gather at dawn tomorrow in a deep, quiet backwater protected by branchy willows.
Thousands of fish of all stripes and ages sailed to the appointed place to declare war on the net.
- Listen carefully! - said the carp, which more than once managed to gnaw through the nets and escape from captivity. - The seine is as wide as our river. To keep it upright under water, lead weights are attached to its lower nodes. I order all fish to split into two schools. The first should lift the sinkers from the bottom to the surface, and the second flock will firmly hold the upper nodes of the net. Pikes are instructed to gnaw through the ropes, with which the seine is attached to both banks.
With bated breath, the fish listened to every word of the leader.
- I order the eels to go on scouting at once! - continued the carp - they have to establish where the net is thrown.
Eels went on a mission, and schools of fish huddled along the shore in agonizing anticipation. The minnows, meanwhile, tried to cheer up the most timid and advised not to panic, even if someone fell into the seine: after all, the fishermen would still not be able to pull him ashore.
Finally the eels returned and reported that the seine had already been cast about one mile down the river.
And so a huge armada of fish swam towards the goal, led by a wise carp.
“Swim carefully!” The leader warned. Work your fins with might and main and brake in time!
A seine appeared ahead, gray and ominous. Seized by a fit of anger, the fish boldly rushed to the attack.
Soon the net was raised from the bottom, the ropes that held it were cut with sharp pike teeth, and the knots were torn. But the angry fish did not calm down on this and continued to pounce on the hated enemy. Grasping the crippled, leaky net with their teeth and working hard with their fins and tails, they dragged it in different directions and tore it to small pieces. The river seemed to be boiling.
The fishermen talked for a long time, scratching their heads, about the mysterious disappearance of the seine, and the fish still proudly tell this story to their children.

Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "PELICAN"
As soon as the pelican went in search of food, the viper sitting in ambush immediately crawled, stealthily, to his nest. Fluffy chicks slept peacefully, unaware of anything. The snake crawled close to them. Her eyes flashed with an ominous gleam - and the massacre began.
Having received on fatal bite, the serenely sleeping chicks did not wake up.
Satisfied with what she had done, the villain crawled into shelter to enjoy the bird's grief to her fullest.
Soon the pelican returned from hunting. At the sight of the brutal massacre perpetrated on the chicks, he burst into loud sobs, and all the inhabitants of the forest fell silent, shocked by the unheard of cruelty.
“Without you I have no life now!” The unfortunate father lamented, looking at the dead children. “May I die with you!
And he began to tear his chest at the very heart with his beak. Hot blood streams gushed from the open wound, sprinkling lifeless chicks.
Losing last strength, the dying pelican cast a farewell glance at the nest with the dead chicks and suddenly shuddered from surprise.
About a miracle! His shed blood and parental love brought the dear chicks back to life, snatching them from the clutches of death. And then, happy, he gave up his ghost.

Lucky
Sergey Silin

Antoshka was running down the street, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jacket, stumbled and, falling, had time to think: "I'll break my nose!" But he didn't have time to get his hands out of his pockets.
And suddenly, right in front of him, unknown from there, appeared a small strong peasant the size of a cat.
The peasant stretched out his hands and took Antoshka on them, softening the blow.
Antoshka rolled onto his side, got up on one knee and looked at the peasant in surprise:
- Who are you?
- Lucky.
- Who-who?
- Lucky. I will make sure that you are lucky.
- Does every person have a lucky one? - asked Antoshka.
- No, there are not so many of us, - answered the little man. - We just go from one to the other. From today I will be with you.
- I'm starting to get lucky! - Antoshka was delighted.
- Exactly! - Lucky nodded.
- And when will you leave me for another?
- When required. I remember that I served one merchant for several years. And one pedestrian was helped for only two seconds.
- Aha! - Antoshka wondered. - So I need
anything to wish for?
- No no! - the peasant raised his hands in protest. - I'm not a wish-doer! I only help the quick-witted and hardworking a little. I just stay close and do it so that the person is lucky. Where is my invisibility cap gone?
He fumbled around him with his hands, felt for the invisibility cap, put it on and disappeared.
- Are you here? - just in case, asked Antoshka.
- Here, here - said Lucky. - Do not pay on
attention me. Antoshka put his hands in his pockets and ran home. And wow, I was lucky: I managed to start the cartoon minute by minute!
Mom came home from work an hour later.
- And I got the prize! she said with a smile. -
Go shopping!
And she went into the kitchen for the bags.
- Did your mother also have a Lucky one? - Antoshka asked his assistant in a whisper.
- No. She is lucky because we are close.
- Mom, I'm with you! - shouted Antoshka.
They returned home two hours later with a heap of purchases.
- Just a streak of luck! - Mom was surprised, eyes shining. - All my life I dreamed of such a blouse!
- And I mean such a cake! - Antoshka answered cheerfully from the bathroom.
The next day at school he received three A's, two A's, found two rubles and made up with Vasya Poteryashkin.
And when, whistling, he returned home, he found that he had lost the keys to the apartment.
- Lucky, where are you? he called.
A tiny, scruffy woman peeked out from under the stairs. Her hair was disheveled, her nose was torn, her dirty sleeve was torn, her shoes were begging for porridge.
- And there was no need to whistle! - she smiled and added: - I'm bad luck! What, upset, huh? ..
Don't worry, don't worry! The time will come, they will call me away from you!
- I see, - Antoshka was depressed. - A streak of bad luck begins ...
- That's for sure! - Nevezuha nodded happily and, stepping into the wall, disappeared.
In the evening, Antoshka received a scolding from his dad for the lost key, accidentally broke his mother's favorite cup, forgot what was asked in Russian, and could not finish reading the book of fairy tales, because he left it at school.
And right in front of the window a phone call rang out:
- Antoshka, is that you? It's me, Lucky!
- Hello, traitor! - Antoshka muttered. - And who are you helping now?
But Lucky did not take offense at the "traitor".
- One old lady. Imagine, she was unlucky all her life! So my boss sent me to her.
Tomorrow I'll help her win a million rubles in the lottery, and I'll come back to you!
- Truth? - Antoshka was delighted.
- True, true, - answered Lucky and hung up.
At night Antoshka had a dream. As if she and Lucky were dragging four string bags of Antoshka's favorite tangerines from the store, and a lonely old woman who was lucky for the first time in her life smiles at them from the window of the house opposite.

Charskaya Lidia Alekseevna

Lusin's life

Princess Miguel

"Far, far away, at the very end of the world, there was a large beautiful blue lake, similar in color to a huge sapphire. In the middle of this lake, on a green emerald island, among myrtle and wisteria, entwined with green ivy and flexible vines, stood a high rock. On it stood a marble rock. the palace behind which was laid out a wonderful garden, fragrant with aroma, it was a very special garden, which can be found only in fairy tales.

The owner of the island and the adjacent lands was the powerful king Ovar. And the king's daughter grew up in the palace, the beautiful Miguel - princess "...

A fairy tale floats and unfolds like a colorful ribbon. A row of beautiful swirls before my spiritual gaze, fantastic paintings... Aunt Musi's usually ringing voice is now reduced to a whisper. Mysterious and cozy in a green ivy gazebo. The lacy shadow of the trees and bushes surrounding her cast moving spots on the pretty face of the young storyteller. This tale is my favorite. Since the day my dear nanny Fenya left us, who knew so well to tell me about the little girl Thumbelina, I have listened with pleasure to the only fairy tale about Princess Miguel. I love my princess dearly, despite all her cruelty. Is it her fault, this green-eyed, soft pink and golden-haired princess, that when she was born into the world of God, the fairies instead of a heart put a piece of diamond in her baby's small breast? And that a direct consequence of this was the complete absence of pity in the soul of the princess. But how beautiful she was! It is beautiful even in those minutes when, with the movement of a tiny white hand, she sent people to a fierce death. Those people who accidentally fell into the mysterious garden of the princess.

There were little children in that garden among roses and lilies. Immobile, pretty elves, chained to gold pegs with silver chains, watched over that garden, and at the same time pitifully rang their bells voices.

Let us go free! Let go beautiful princess Miguel! Let us go! “Their complaints sounded like music. And this music had a pleasant effect on the princess, and she often laughed at the prayers of her little captives.

But their plaintive voices touched the hearts of people passing by the garden. And they looked into the mysterious garden of the princess. Ah, they did not appear here for joy! At each such appearance of an uninvited guest, the guards ran out, grabbed the visitor and, at the order of the princess, threw him into the lake from a cliff

And Princess Miguel laughed only in response to the desperate cries and groans of the drowning ...

Even now, I still cannot understand how my pretty, cheerful aunt came up with such a terrible in essence, such a gloomy and difficult fairy tale! The heroine of this fairy tale - Princess Miguel, of course, was an invention of a sweet, slightly windy, but very kind aunt Musya. Ah, all the same, let everyone think that this is a fairy tale, an invention and the princess Miguel herself, but she, my marvelous princess, has firmly settled in my impressionable heart ... She ever existed or not, what was in essence to me before it was the case when I loved her, my beautiful cruel Miguel! I saw her in a dream and more than once, I saw her golden hair the color of a ripe ear, her green, like a forest pool, deep eyes.

That year I was six years old. I was already sorting out the warehouses and, with the help of Aunt Musya, wrote gnarled, obliquely and at random letters instead of sticks. And I already understood beauty. The fabulous beauty of nature: sun, forest, flowers. And my eyes lit up with delight at the sight of a beautiful picture or an elegant illustration on a magazine page.

Aunt Musya, dad and grandmother tried from my very early age to develop an aesthetic taste in me, drawing my attention to what passed without a trace for other children.

Look, Lyusenka, what a beautiful sunset! You see how wonderfully the crimson sun sinks in the pond! Look, look, now the water has become completely scarlet. And the surrounding trees seem to be on fire.

I look and all boil with delight. Indeed, scarlet water, scarlet trees and scarlet sun. What's the beautiful!

Y. Yakovlev Girls from Vasilievsky Island

I am Valya Zaitseva from Vasilievsky Island.

I have a hamster under my bed. He will fill his full cheeks, in reserve, sit on his hind legs and look with black buttons ... Yesterday I kicked one boy off. Weighed him a good bream. We, Vasileostrovsk girls, know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary ...

It's always windy here on Vasilievsky. The rain is falling. Pours wet snow. Floods happen. And our island floats like a ship: on the left is the Neva, on the right is the Nevka, in front is the open sea.

I have a girlfriend - Tanya Savicheva. We are neighbors with her. She is from the Second line, house 13. Four windows on the first floor. Nearby there is a bakery, in the basement there is a kerosene shop ... Now there is no shop, but in Tanino, when I was not yet in the world, the first floor always smelled of kerosene. They told me.

Tanya Savicheva was the same age as I am now. She could have grown up long ago, become a teacher, but she has remained a girl forever ... When my grandmother sent Tanya for kerosene, I was gone. And she went to Rumyantsevsky Garden with another friend. But I know all about her. They told me.

She was a songstress. She always sang. She wanted to recite poetry, but she stumbled on the words: she will stumble, and everyone thinks that she has forgotten the right word. My girlfriend sang because when you sing, you don't stutter. She could not stutter, she was going to become a teacher, like Linda Avgustovna.

She always played teacher. He puts a big grandmother's scarf on his shoulders, folds his hands in a lock and walks from corner to corner. "Children, today we will do the repetition with you ..." And then he stumbles over a word, blushes and turns to the wall, although there is no one in the room.

They say there are doctors who treat stuttering. I would find one. We, Vasileostrovsky girls, will find whoever you want! But now a doctor is no longer needed. She stayed there ... my friend Tanya Savicheva. She was taken from besieged Leningrad to the mainland, and the road, called the Road of Life, could not give Tanya life.

The girl died of hunger ... Does it really matter why she dies - from hunger or from a bullet. Maybe hunger hurts even more ...

I decided to find the Way of Life. I went to Rzhevka, where this road begins. She walked two and a half kilometers - there the guys were building a monument to the children who died in the blockade. I also wanted to build.

Some adults asked me:

- Who are you?

- I am Valya Zaitseva from Vasilievsky Island. I also want to build.

I was told:

- It is forbidden! Come with your neighborhood.

I didn't leave. I looked around and saw a baby, a tadpole. I grabbed onto it:

- He also came with his area?

- He came with his brother.

With my brother, you can. With the area you can. But what about being alone?

I told them:

- You see, I don't just want to build. I want to build for my friend ... Tanya Savicheva.

They rolled their eyes. They didn’t believe it. They asked again:

- Tanya Savicheva is your friend?

- And what is special here? We are of the same age. Both are from Vasilievsky Island.

- But she's not there ...

How stupid people, and even adults! What do you mean "no" if we are friends? I told them to understand:

- We have everything in common. Both the street and the school. We have a hamster. He will fill his cheeks ...

I noticed that they do not believe me. And so that they would believe, she blurted out:

- We even have the same handwriting!

- Handwriting? - They were even more surprised.

- And what? Handwriting!

Suddenly they cheered up, from the handwriting:

- It is very good! This is just a find. Come with us.

- I'm not going anywhere. I want to build ...

- You will build! You will write in Tanya's handwriting for the monument.

“I can,” I agreed. “Only I don’t have a pencil. Will you give?

- You will write on concrete. They don't write on concrete with a pencil.

I never wrote on concrete. I wrote on the walls, on the asphalt, but they brought me to the concrete plant and gave Tanya a diary - a notebook with the alphabet: a, b, c ... I have the same book. For forty kopecks.

I took Tanya's diary in my hands and opened the page. It said:

I felt cold. I wanted to give them the book and leave.

But I'm Vasileostrovskaya. And if a friend's older sister died, I should stay with her, not run away.

- Let's get your concrete. I will write.

The crane lowered a huge frame of thick gray dough at my feet. I took my wand, squatted down and began to write. The concrete smelled cold. It was difficult to write. And they told me:

- Do not rush.

I made mistakes, smoothed the concrete with my palm, and wrote again.

I was bad at it.

- Do not rush. Write calmly.

While I was writing about Zhenya, my grandmother died.

If you just want to eat, this is not hunger - you eat an hour later.

I tried to starve from morning to evening. Endured. Hunger - when your head, hands, heart are hungry day after day - everything you have is starving. First he starves, then dies.

Leka had his own corner, fenced off by cupboards, he drew there.

He earned money by drawing and studied. He was quiet and short-sighted, wearing glasses, and all squeaked in his ruling pen. They told me.

Where did he die? Probably in the kitchen, where the "potbelly stove" smoked with a small weak engine, where they slept, they ate bread once a day. A small piece, like a cure for death. Leka did not have enough medicine ...

- Write, - they told me quietly.

In the new frame, the concrete was liquid, it crawled over the letters. And the word "died" disappeared. I didn't want to write it again. But I was told:

- Write, Valya Zaitseva, write.

And I wrote again - "died".

I am very tired of writing the word "died". I knew that with each page of the diary, Tanya Savicheva was getting worse. She stopped singing long ago and did not notice that she was stuttering. She no longer played teacher. But she did not give up - she lived. They told me ... Spring has come. The trees turned green. We have a lot of trees on Vasilievsky. Tanya dried up, froze, became thin and light. Her hands were trembling and her eyes ached from the sun. The Nazis killed half of Tanya Savicheva, and maybe more than half. But her mother was with her, and Tanya held on.

- What are you not writing? - they told me quietly. - Write, Valya Zaitseva, otherwise the concrete will harden.

For a long time I did not dare to open a page with the letter "M". On this page, Tanya's hand was written: “Mom on May 13 at 7.30 o'clock.

in the morning of 1942 ". Tanya did not write the word "died". She didn't have the strength to write the word.

I gripped the wand tightly and touched the concrete. I did not look into the diary, but wrote by heart. It's good that our handwriting is the same.

I wrote with all my might. The concrete became thick, almost frozen. He no longer crawled over the letters.

- Can you write more?

- I will add, - I answered and turned away so as not to see my eyes. After all, Tanya Savicheva is my ... friend.

Tanya and I are the same age, we, Vasileostrovsk girls, know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary. If she had not been Vasileostrovskaya, Leningrad, she would not have lasted so long. But she lived - that means she did not give up!

Opened the "C" page. There were two words: "The Savichevs are dead."

Opened the page "U" - "All died." The last page of Tanya Savicheva's diary was marked with the letter "O" - "Tanya is the only one left."

And I imagined that it was me, Valya Zaitseva, who was left alone: ​​without a mother, without a father, without a sister, Lyulka. Hungry. Under fire.

In an empty apartment on the Second Line. I wanted to cross out that last page, but the concrete hardened and the stick broke.

And suddenly, to myself, I asked Tanya Savicheva: “Why alone?

And I? You also have a friend - Valya Zaitseva, your neighbor from Vasilievsky Island. We will go with you to the Rumyantsevsky Garden, run, and when we get tired, I will bring my grandmother's handkerchief from the house, and we will play the teacher Linda Avgustovna. I have a hamster under my bed. I'll give it to you for your birthday. Do you hear, Tanya Savicheva? "

Someone put a hand on my shoulder and said:

- Come on, Valya Zaitseva. You've done everything that needs to be done. Thanks.

I did not understand why they were saying "thank you" to me. I said:

- I'll come tomorrow ... without my district. Can?

“Come without a district,” they told me. - Come.

My girlfriend Tanya Savicheva did not shoot at the Nazis and was not a scout among the partisans. She just lived in her hometown during the most difficult time. But, perhaps, the Nazis did not enter Leningrad because Tanya Savicheva lived in it and many other girls and boys lived there, who remained forever in their time. And today's guys are friends with them, as I am friends with Tanya.

And after all, they are friends only with the living.

Vladimir Zheleznyakov "Scarecrow"

A circle of their faces flashed in front of me, and I rushed about in it, like a squirrel in a wheel.

I should stop and leave.

The boys pounced on me.

“For her legs! - shouted Valka. - By the legs! .. "

They knocked me down and grabbed me by the legs and arms. I kicked and jerked with all my might, but they tied me up and dragged me out into the garden.

Iron Button and Shmakova dragged out a scarecrow mounted on a long stick. Dimka followed them and stood aside. The scarecrow was in my dress, with my eyes, with my mouth up to my ears. The legs were made of stockings stuffed with straw, tow and some kind of feathers stuck out instead of hair. On my neck, that is, a scarecrow, dangled a plaque with the words: "SCARE IS A TRAITOR."

Lenka fell silent and somehow all faded away.

Nikolai Nikolaevich realized that the limit of her story and the limit of her strength had come.

- And they had fun around the stuffed animal, - said Lenka. - They jumped and laughed:

"Wow, our beauty-ah!"

"Wait!"

“I made it up! I came up with it! - Shmakova jumped for joy. - Let Dimka light the fire! .. "

After these words of Shmakova, I completely ceased to be afraid. I thought: if Dimka sets fire, then maybe I'll just die.

And Valka at this time - he was the first to do everything everywhere - stuck the scarecrow into the ground and poured brushwood around it.

“I have no matches,” Dimka said quietly.

"But I have!" - Shaggy stuck matches into Dimke's hand and pushed him towards the stuffed animal.

Dimka stood near the stuffed animal, his head lowered.

I froze - waited in last time! Well, I thought he would now look around and say: "Guys, Lenka is not to blame for anything ... All of me!"

"Set it on fire!" - ordered the Iron Button.

I broke down and shouted:

“Dimka! Don't, Dimka-ah-ah! .. "

And he was still standing near the scarecrow - I could see his back, he slouched over and seemed somehow small. Maybe because the stuffed animal was on a long stick. Only he was small and weak.

“Well, Somov! - said the Iron Button. - Go, finally, to the end! "

Dimka fell to his knees and dropped his head so low that only his shoulders protruded, and his head was not visible at all. It turned out to be some kind of headless arsonist. He struck a match, and a flame of fire rose over his shoulders. Then he jumped up and hurriedly ran to the side.

They dragged me close to the fire. I, without looking up, looked at the flame of the fire. Granddad! I felt then how this fire engulfed me, how it burns, bakes and bites, although only waves of its heat reached me.

I screamed, I screamed so that they let me go out of surprise.

When they released me, I rushed to the fire and began to scatter it with my feet, grabbed the burning branches with my hands - I did not want the stuffed animal to burn. For some reason I did not want this terribly!

Dimka was the first to come to his senses.

“Are you crazy? He grabbed my hand and tried to pull me away from the fire. - This is a joke! Don't you understand the jokes? "

I became strong, easily defeated him. I pushed him so hard that he flew upside down - only his heels flashed to the sky. And she herself pulled a scarecrow out of the fire and began to swing it over her head, stepping on everyone. The scarecrow had already caught fire, sparks flew from it in different directions, and all of them scared away from these sparks.

They scattered.

And I was so spinning, accelerating them, that I could not stop until I fell. A scarecrow lay next to me. It was scorched, fluttering in the wind, and from this it felt as if it were alive.

At first I lay with my eyes closed. Then I felt that it smelled like burnt, opened my eyes - the dress of the scarecrow was smoking. I swatted the smoldering hem with my hand and lay back on the grass.

There was a crunch of branches, receding footsteps, and there was silence.

"Anya of Green Gables" by Lucy Maud Montgomery

It was already quite light when Anya woke up and sat up in bed, looking in perplexity out the window through which a stream of joyful sunlight was pouring and behind which something white and fluffy swayed against the background of a bright blue sky.

For the first moment, she could not remember where she was. At first she felt a delightful thrill, as if something very pleasant had happened, then a terrible memory appeared. It was Green Gables, but they did not want to leave her here, because she is not a boy!

But it was morning, and outside the window stood a cherry, all in bloom. Anya jumped out of bed and in one leap found herself at the window. Then she pushed open the window frame - the frame gave a creak, as if it had not been opened for a long time, which, however, it really was - and knelt down, peering into the June morning. Her eyes glittered with delight. Ah, isn't that wonderful? Isn't this a lovely place? If she could stay here! She will imagine what remains. There is room for imagination here.

The huge cherry grew so close to the window that its branches touched the house. It was so densely covered with flowers that not a single leaf could be seen. On both sides of the house stretched large gardens, on one side - apple, on the other - cherry, all in bloom. The grass under the trees looked yellow with dandelions in bloom. A little further away in the garden were lilac bushes, all in clusters of bright purple flowers, and the morning breeze carried their dizzyingly sweet scent to Anya's window.

Beyond the garden, green meadows covered with succulent clover sloped down to a valley where a stream ran and a multitude of white birches grew, slender trunks of which rose above the undergrowth, suggesting a wonderful rest among ferns, mosses and forest grasses. Beyond the valley was a hill, green and fluffy with spruce and fir. There was a small gap among them, and into it was the gray mezzanine of the house that Anya had seen on the other side of the Lake of Sparkling Waters the day before.

To the left were large barns and other outbuildings, and beyond them, green fields descended down to the sparkling blue sea.

Anya's eyes, receptive to beauty, slowly passed from one picture to another, eagerly absorbing everything that was in front of her. The poor woman has seen so many ugly places in her life. But what opened before her now surpassed her wildest dreams.

She knelt, forgetting about everything except the beauty that surrounded her, until she shuddered when she felt a hand on her shoulder. The little dreamer did not hear Marilla enter.

“It's time to get dressed,” said Marilla shortly.

Marilla simply did not know how to talk to this child, and this unpleasantness of her own ignorance made her harsh and decisive against her will.

Anya stood up with a deep sigh.

- Ah. isn't it wonderful? She asked, pointing at the beautiful world outside the window.

“Yes, it’s a big tree,” said Marilla, “and it blooms profusely, but the cherries themselves are no good — small and wormy.

“Oh, I'm not just talking about the tree; of course, it is beautiful ... yes, it is dazzlingly beautiful ... it blooms as if it is extremely important for him ... But I meant everything: the garden, and the trees, and the stream, and the forests - the whole big beautiful world. On a morning like this, don't you feel like you love the whole world? Even here I can hear the stream laughing in the distance. Have you ever noticed what joyful creatures these streams are? They are always laughing. Even in winter I can hear them laughing from under the ice. I’m so glad there’s a stream here by the Green Gables. Maybe you think it doesn't matter to me if you don't want to leave me here? But this is not the case. I will always be pleased to remember that there is a stream near the Green Gables, even if I never see it again. If there was no brook here, I would always have the unpleasant feeling that he should have been here. I'm not in the midst of grief this morning. I am never in the abyss of grief in the morning. Isn't it wonderful that it is morning? But I'm very sad. I just imagined that you still need me and that I will stay here forever, forever. It was a great comfort to imagine that. But the most unpleasant thing about imagining things is that there comes a moment when you have to stop imagining, and this is very painful.

“You better get dressed, go downstairs and don’t think about your imaginary things,” said Marilla, as soon as she managed to get a word in. - Breakfast is waiting. Wash your face and comb your hair. Leave the window open and unfold the bed to ventilate. And hurry up, please.

Anya, obviously, could act quickly when it was required, because after ten minutes she came downstairs, neatly dressed, with her hair combed and braided into braids, and a washed face; at the same time her soul was filled with a pleasant consciousness that she had fulfilled all Marilla's demands. However, in fairness, it should be noted that she still forgot to open the bed for airing.

“I'm very hungry today,” she announced, slipping into the chair Marilla had pointed out to her. “The world no longer seems such a gloomy desert as it did last night. I'm so glad the morning is sunny. However, I love rainy mornings too. Any morning is interesting, isn't it? It is not known what awaits us on this day, and there is so much room for imagination. But I am glad that today there is no rain, because it is easier not to lose heart and steadfastly endure the vicissitudes of fate on a sunny day. I feel like I have a lot to go through today. It's very easy to read about other people's misfortunes and imagine that we could heroically overcome them, but it's not so easy when we really have to face them, right?

“For God's sake, hold your tongue,” said Marilla. “The little girl shouldn't talk so much.

After this remark, Anne fell silent completely, so obediently that her continued silence began to irritate Marilla somewhat, as something not entirely natural. Matthew was silent too — but that was at least natural — so breakfast passed in complete silence.

As it drew to a close, Anya became more and more distracted. She ate mechanically, and her big eyes gazed unseenly at the sky outside the window. This annoyed Marilla even more. She had the unpleasant feeling that while the body of this strange child was at the table, his spirit was floating on the wings of fantasy in some transcendental country. Who would want to have such a child in the house?

And yet, most incomprehensible, Matthew wanted to leave her! Marilla felt that he wanted it this morning as badly as he had last night, and was going to want it more. It was his usual way of hammering a quirk into his head and clinging to it with an astonishing tacit tenacity - ten times more powerful and effective through silence than if he spoke of his desire from morning to night.

When breakfast was over, Anya got out of her reverie and offered to wash the dishes.

- Do you know how to wash dishes properly? Asked Marilla incredulously.

- Pretty good. True, I am better at babysitting. I have a lot of experience in this business. It's a shame that you don't have children here that I could take care of.

- But I would not at all want more children here than in this moment... With you alone is enough trouble. I don’t know what to do with you. Matthew is so funny.

“He seemed very sweet to me,” said Anya reproachfully. - He is very friendly and did not mind at all, no matter how much I said - he seemed to like it. I felt a kindred spirit in him as soon as I saw him.

“You are both eccentric, if you mean that when you talk about kinship,” snorted Marilla. - Okay, you can wash the dishes. Do not feel sorry for hot water and dry it properly. I’ve got a lot of work to do this morning because I’ll have to go to White Sands this afternoon to see Mrs. Spencer. You will go with me, and there we will decide what to do with you. When you're done with the dishes, go upstairs and make the bed.

Anne quickly and thoroughly washed the dishes, which Marilla did not miss. Then she made the bed, albeit with less success, because she had never learned the art of wrestling with a feather bed. Nevertheless, the bed was made, and Marilla, in order to get rid of the girl for a while, said that she would let her go into the garden and play there until dinnertime.

Anne rushed to the door, with a lively face and shining eyes. But on the very threshold, she suddenly stopped, turned sharply back and sat down by the table, the expression of delight disappeared from her face, as if it had been blown away by the wind.

- Well, what else happened? Asked Marilla.

“I dare not go out,” Anne said in the tone of a martyr, renouncing all earthly joys. “If I can't stay here, I shouldn't fall in love with Green Gables. And if I go out and get acquainted with all these trees, flowers, and a garden, and a stream, I cannot help but love them. My heart is already heavy, and I don't want it to get any harder. I so want to go out - everything seems to be calling me: "Anya, Anya, come out to us! Anya, Anya, we want to play with you!" - but it's best not to. You shouldn't fall in love with something from which you have to be torn off forever, right? And it's so hard to resist and not fall in love, isn't it? That's why I was so happy when I thought I was going to stay here. I thought there was so much to love here that nothing would stop me. But this brief dream was over. Now I am reconciled to my rock, so I better not go out. Otherwise, I'm afraid I won't be able to reconcile with him again. What is the name of this flower in a pot on the windowsill, please tell me?

- It's geranium.

- Oh, I don't mean that title. I mean the name you gave her. Didn't you give her a name? Then can I do it? May I call her ... oh let me think ... Sweetheart will do ... can I call her Sweetheart while I'm here? Oh, let me call her that!

- Yes, for God's sake, I don't care. But what is the point in naming geraniums?

“Oh, I like things to have names, even if it's only geranium. This makes them look more like people. How do you know you don’t hurt a geranium’s feelings when you just call it “geranium” and nothing else? After all, you would not like it if you were always called just a woman. Yes, I will call her Sweetheart. I gave the name this morning to this cherry under my bedroom window. I named her the Snow Queen because she is so white. Of course, it won't always be in bloom, but you can always imagine it, right?

“Never in my life have I seen or heard anything like it,” muttered Marilla, fleeing to the basement for potatoes. “She's really interesting, as Matthew says. I can already feel how I am interested in what else she has to say. She puts a spell on me too. And she's already let them in on Matthew. This look, which he threw at me when he left, again expressed everything that he said and what he hinted at yesterday. It would be better if he was like other men and spoke openly about everything. Then it would be possible to answer and convince him. But what can you do with a man who only looks?

When Marilla returned from her pilgrimage to the basement, she found Anya again falling into reverie. The girl sat with her chin in her hands and gazed at the sky. So Marilla left her until dinner appeared on the table.

“Can I borrow a mare and a convertible in the afternoon, Matthew? Asked Marilla.

Matthew nodded and looked sadly at Anya. Marilla caught that glance and said dryly:

“I'm going to go to White Sands and settle the matter. I'll take Anya with me so Mrs. Spencer can send her back to Nova Scotia right away. I'll leave you some tea on the stove and get home in time for milking.

Again Matthew said nothing. Marilla felt that she was wasting her words. Nothing is more annoying than a man who doesn't answer ... except a woman who doesn't answer.

In due time Matthew harnessed the bay, and Marilla and Anne got into the convertible. Matthew opened the courtyard gates for them and, as they slowly passed by, said loudly, to no one, it seemed, addressing:

“There was a kid here this morning, Jerry Buot from Creek, and I told him I’d hire him for the summer.

Marilla did not answer, but whipped the unfortunate bay one with such force that the fat mare, not accustomed to such treatment, galloped indignantly. When the convertible was already rolling along the big road Marilla turned and saw that the insufferable Matthew was leaning against the gate, looking sadly after them.

Sergey Kutsko

WOLVES

This is how village life is arranged, that if you don't go out into the forest before noon, you don't walk through familiar mushroom and berry places, then by the evening there is nothing to run, everything will be hidden.

So one girl judged. The sun has just risen to the tops of the fir trees, and in my hands is already a full basket, has wandered far, but what mushrooms! With gratitude, she looked around and was just about to leave, when the distant bushes suddenly shuddered and an animal came out into the clearing, his eyes tenaciously following the figure of the girl.

- Oh, dog! - she said.

Cows were grazing somewhere nearby, and their acquaintance in the forest with a shepherd's dog was not a big surprise to them. But meeting with a few more pairs of animal eyes put me into a daze ...

“Wolves,” the thought flashed, “the road is not far away, to run ...” Yes, the forces disappeared, the basket involuntarily fell out of my hands, my legs became wadded and disobedient.

- Mama! - this sudden cry stopped the flock, which had already reached the middle of the clearing. - People, help! - three times swept over the forest.

As the shepherds later said: “We heard screams, we thought the children were indulging ...” It is five kilometers from the village, in the forest!

The wolves approached slowly, a she-wolf walked in front. It happens so with these animals - the she-wolf becomes the head of the pack. Only her eyes were not as ferocious as they were studying. They seemed to be asking: “Well, man? What will you do now, when there is no weapon in your hands, and your relatives are not nearby? "

The girl fell to her knees, covered her eyes with her hands and began to cry. Suddenly the thought of prayer came to her, as if something stirred in her soul, as if the words of her grandmother, remembered from childhood, were resurrected: “Ask the Mother of God! "

The girl did not remember the words of the prayer. Overshadowing herself with the sign of the Cross, she asked the Mother of God, like her mother, in the last hope of intercession and salvation.

When she opened her eyes, the wolves, bypassing the bushes, went into the forest. Ahead, slowly, with her head down, a she-wolf walked.

Boris Ganago

LETTER TO GOD

This happened in late XIX centuries.

Petersburg. Christmas Eve. A cold, piercing wind blows from the bay. Pours fine prickly snow. The hooves of horses clatter on the cobblestone pavement, the doors of shops slam - the last purchases are made before the holiday. Everyone is in a hurry to quickly get home.

Only a little boy wanders slowly along the snowy street. Every now and then he pulls cold, reddened hands from the pockets of his shabby coat and tries to warm them with his breath. Then he shoves them deeper into his pockets again and moves on. He stops at the bakery window and looks at the pretzels and bagels displayed behind the glass.

The shop door swung open, letting out another customer, and a scent of freshly baked bread smelled out of it. The boy convulsively swallowed saliva, stomped on the spot and wandered on.

Dusk falls imperceptibly. There are fewer and fewer passers-by. The boy pauses in front of the building, in the windows of which the lights are on, and, standing on tiptoe, tries to look inside. After a moment's hesitation, he opens the door.

The old clerk was late at work today. He has nowhere to rush. For a long time he has been living alone and on holidays he feels his loneliness especially sharply. The clerk sat and thought with bitterness that he had no one to celebrate Christmas with, no one to give gifts to. At this time, the door opened. The old man looked up and saw the boy.

- Uncle, uncle, I have to write a letter! The boy said quickly.

- Do you have money? The clerk asked sternly.

The boy, fiddling with his hat, took a step back. And then the lone clerk remembered that it was Christmas Eve and that he was so anxious to give someone a present. He took out a blank sheet of paper, dipped his pen in ink and wrote: “Petersburg. 6th January. Mister ... "

- What is the name of the gentleman?

“This is not the master,” the boy muttered, not yet fully believing his luck.

- Oh, is that a lady? The clerk asked, smiling.

No no! The boy said quickly.

So who do you want to write a letter to? - the old man was surprised,

- Jesus.

- How dare you taunt an old man? - the clerk was indignant and wanted to show the boy to the door. But then I saw tears in the eyes of the child and remembered that today is Christmas Eve. He felt ashamed of his anger, and in an already warmer voice he asked:

- What do you want to write to Jesus?

- My mother always taught me to ask God for help when it is difficult. She said that God is called Jesus Christ. - The boy came closer to the clerk and continued: - And yesterday she fell asleep, and I can not wake her up. There is not even bread at home, I am so hungry, ”he wiped the tears that had come over his eyes with his palm.

- How did you wake her up? The old man asked, rising from his table.

- I kissed her.

- Does she breathe?

- What are you, uncle, do they breathe in a dream?

“Jesus Christ has already received your letter,” said the old man, hugging the boy by the shoulders. - He told me to take care of you, and took your mother to Himself.

The old clerk thought: “My mother, leaving for another world, you told me to be a kind person and a pious Christian. I forgot your order, but now you will not be ashamed of me. "

Boris Ganago

SAID WORD

On the outskirts big city stood old house with a garden. They were guarded by a reliable watchman - the clever dog Uranus. He never barked at anyone in vain, watched strangers vigilantly, rejoiced at the owners.

But this house was demolished. Its inhabitants were offered a comfortable apartment, and then the question arose - what to do with the shepherd dog? As a watchman, they no longer needed Uranus, becoming only a burden. For several days there was a fierce debate about the fate of the dog. The plaintive sobbing of his grandson and the menacing shouts of his grandfather often flew through the open window from the house to the guardhouse.

What did Uranus understand from the words that came through? Who knows...

Only the daughter-in-law and grandson, who brought him food, noticed that the dog's bowl remained untouched for more than a day. Uranus did not eat in the following days, no matter how persuaded he was. He no longer wagged his tail when they approached him, and even averted his gaze to the side, as if not wanting to look at the people who betrayed him anymore.

The daughter-in-law, who was expecting an heir or heiress, suggested:

- Isn't Uranus sick? The owner threw in hearts:

- It would be better if the dog itself died. You wouldn't have had to shoot then.

The daughter-in-law shuddered.

Uranus looked at the speaker with a look that the owner could not forget for a long time.

The grandson persuaded the veterinarian's neighbor to see his pet. But the veterinarian did not find any disease, only thoughtfully said:

- Maybe he was longing for something ... Uranus soon died, until his death a little wiggling his tail only for his daughter-in-law and grandson who visited him.

And the owner at night often recalled the look of Uranus, who faithfully served him for so many years. The old man already regretted cruel words who killed the dog.

But is it possible to return what was said?

And who knows how the voiced evil hurt the grandson, tied to his four-legged friend?

And who knows how it, scattering around the world like a radio wave, will affect the souls of unborn children, future generations?

Words live, words do not die ...

An old book said: a girl's dad died. The girl missed him. He was always kind to her. She lacked this warmth.

Once daddy dreamed of her and said: now you be affectionate with people. Every good word serves Eternity.

Boris Ganago

MASHENKA

Christmas story

Once, many years ago, the girl Masha was mistaken for an Angel. It happened like this.

One poor family had three children. Their dad died, mom worked where she could, and then she got sick. There was not a crumb left in the house, but I was so hungry. What to do?

Mom went out into the street and began to beg, but people, not noticing her, passed by. Christmas night was approaching, and the woman's words: “I don't ask myself, my children ... for Christ's sake! ”Were drowning in the pre-holiday bustle.

In despair, she entered the church and began to ask for help from Christ Himself. Who else was there to ask?

Here, at the icon of the Savior, Masha saw a woman on her knees. Her face was flooded with tears. The girl had never seen such suffering before.

Masha had an amazing heart. When they were happy next to her, and she wanted to jump with happiness. But if someone was hurt, she could not pass by and asked:

What's the matter? Why are you crying? And someone else's pain penetrated into her heart. And now she leaned towards the woman:

Are you in grief?

And when she shared her misfortune with her, Masha, who had never experienced a feeling of hunger in her life, imagined three lonely kids who had not seen food for a long time. Without hesitation, she handed the woman five rubles. It was all her money.

At that time, it was a significant amount, and the woman's face shone.

Where is your home? - Masha asked in parting. She was surprised to find out that she lives poor family in the adjacent basement. The girl did not understand how it was possible to live in the basement, but she firmly knew what she needed to do on this Christmas evening.

The happy mother flew home as if on wings. She bought food from a nearby store, and the children greeted her with joy.

Soon the stove burned and the samovar began to boil. The children warmed up, had their fill and quieted down. The table, laden with food, was an unexpected holiday for them, almost a miracle.

But then Nadia, the smallest, asked:

Mom, is it true that on Christmas day God sends an Angel to the children, and he brings them many, many gifts?

Mom knew very well that they had no one to expect presents. Thank God for what He has already given them: everyone is full and warm. But babies are babies. They wanted so badly to have a Christmas tree, the same as that of all the other children. What could she, poor woman, tell them? Destroy a child's faith?

The children looked at her warily, waiting for an answer. And mom confirmed:

This is true. But the Angel comes only to those who believe in God with all their hearts and pray to Him with all their hearts.

And I believe in God with all my heart and with all my heart I pray to Him, - Nadya did not back down. - Let him send us His Angel.

Mom didn't know what to say. Silence settled in the room, only the logs crackled in the stove. And suddenly there was a knock. The children shuddered, and my mother crossed herself and opened the door with a trembling hand.

On the threshold stood a little blonde girl Masha, and behind her was a bearded man with a Christmas tree in his hands.

Merry Christmas! - Mashenka happily congratulated the owners. The children froze.

While the bearded man was setting up the tree, the nanny car entered the room with a large basket, from which gifts immediately began to appear. The kids couldn't believe their eyes. But neither they nor her mother suspected that the girl had given them her Christmas tree and her gifts.

And when the unexpected guests left, Nadia asked:

Was this girl an Angel?

Boris Ganago

BACK TO LIFE

Based on the story by A. Dobrovolsky "Seryozha"

Usually the brothers' beds were side by side. But when Seryozha fell ill with pneumonia, Sasha was moved to another room and forbidden to disturb the baby. They only asked me to pray for my little brother, who was getting worse and worse.

One evening Sasha looked into the patient's room. Seryozha was lying with his eyes open, not seeing anything, and could hardly breathe. Frightened, the boy rushed to the office, from which the voices of his parents could be heard. The door was ajar, and Sasha heard ma-ma, crying, and said that Seryozha was dying. Pa-pa answered with pain in his voice:

- Why cry now? He is no longer spas ...

In horror, Sasha rushed to his sister's room. There was no one there, and with sobbing he fell to his knees in front of the icon of the Mother of God, which hung on the wall. The words broke through the sobbing:

- Lord, Lord, make sure that Seryozha does not die!

Sasha's face was flooded with tears. Everything around was blurred as if in a fog. The boy saw in front of him only the face of the Mother of God. The sense of time has disappeared.

- Lord, you can do anything, save Seryozha!

It was already completely dark. Exhausted, Sasha got up with the corpse and lit a table lamp. The Gospel lay before her. The boy turned over several pages, and suddenly his gaze fell on the line: "Go, and how you believed, let it be for you ..."

As if having heard an order, he went to Se-ryozha. At the bedside of her beloved brother, mother sat in silence. She gave a sign: "Don't make a noise, Seryozha fell asleep."

No words were spoken, but this sign was like a ray of hope. If he fell asleep, it means he is alive, that means he will live!

Three days later, Seryozha could already sit in bed, and the children were allowed to visit him. They brought their brother's favorite toys, a fortress and houses, which he cut and glued before his illness - everything that could please the baby. A little sister with a large doll stood near Seryozha, and Sasha, exulting, photographed them.

These were moments of real happiness.

Boris Ganago

YOUR BIRTHDAY

A chick fell out of the nest - very small, helpless, even the wings have not yet grown. Can't do anything, only squeaks and opens its beak - it asks for food.

The guys took it and brought it into the house. They built a nest for him from grass and twigs. Vova fed the baby, and Ira watered and carried it out into the sun.

Soon the chick grew stronger, and instead of a gun, feathers began to grow. The guys found an old birdcage in the attic and for safety they put their pet in it - the cat began to look at him very expressively. He was on duty at the door all day, waiting for a convenient moment. And no matter how much his children chased him, he did not take his eyes off the chick.

Summer passed quickly. The chick grew up in front of the children and began to fly around the cage. And soon he felt cramped in her. When the cage was taken out into the street, he beat against the bars and asked to be released. So the guys decided to release their pet. Of course, it was a pity for them to part with him, but they could not imprison the one who was created for flight.

One sunny morning the children said goodbye to their pet, carried the cage into the yard and opened it. The chick jumped onto the grass and looked back at his friends.

At that moment, a cat appeared. Hiding in the bushes, he prepared to jump, rushed, but ... The chick flew high, high ...

The Holy Elder John of Kronstadt compared our soul to a bird. The enemy hunts for every soul, wants to catch it. After all, at first the human soul, just like a fledgling chick, is helpless, cannot fly. How can we preserve it, how to grow it so that it does not break on sharp stones, does not fall into the catcher's net?

The Lord has created a saving fence, behind which our soul grows and grows stronger - the house of God, the Holy Church. In it, the soul learns to fly high, high, to the very sky. And she knows there such a bright joy that she is not afraid of any earthly networks.

Boris Ganago

MIRROR

Dot, dot, comma,

Minus, mug curve.

Stick, stick, cucumber -

So the little man came out.

With this rhyme, Nadia finished drawing. Then, fearing that she would not be understood, she signed under it: "This is me." She carefully examined her creation and decided that he was missing something.

The young artist went to the mirror and began to examine herself: what else needs to be completed so that anyone can understand who is depicted in the portrait?

Nadia was very fond of dressing up and spinning in front of a large mirror, tried different hairstyles. This time the girl tried on her mother's hat with a veil.

She wanted to look mysterious and romantic, like long-legged girls showing fashion on TV. Nadia presented herself as an adult, threw a languid look in the mirror and tried to walk with the gait of a fashion model. It didn't turn out very nicely, and when she stopped abruptly, the hat slid down on her nose.

It's good that no one saw her at that moment. That would have laughed! In general, she did not like being a fashion model at all.

The girl took off her hat, and then her gaze fell on her grandmother's hat. Unable to resist, she tried it on. And she froze, having made an amazing discovery: she looked like two drops of water like her grandma. Only she didn't have wrinkles yet. Bye.

Now Nadia knew what she would become in many years. True, this future seemed to her very distant ...

It became clear to Nadya why grandmother loves her so much, why she watches her pranks with tender sadness and sighs furtively.

Footsteps rang out. Nadia hastily put her hat back and ran to the door. On the threshold she met ... herself, but not so playful. But the eyes were exactly the same: childishly surprised and joyful.

Nadenka hugged her future self and quietly asked:

Grandma, is it true that you were me as a child?

Grandmother was silent, then smiled mysteriously and took out an old album from the shelf. Turning a few pages, she showed a photograph of a little girl very much like Nadia.

That's what I was.

Oh, really, you look like me! - the granddaughter exclaimed in delight.

Or maybe you are like me? - Slyly, squinting, asked the grandmother.

It doesn't matter who looks like whom. The main thing is that they are similar, - the baby did not concede.

Isn't it important? Look at who I looked like ...

And the grandmother began to leaf through the album. There were so many faces there. And what kind of faces! And each was beautiful in its own way. The peace, dignity and warmth radiated by them attracted the eye. Nadya noticed that all of them - small children and gray-haired old men, young ladies and smart military men - were somewhat similar to each other ... And to her.

Tell me about them, the girl asked.

The grandmother hugged her blood to her, and a story began to flow about their family, coming from ancient times.

The time has come for cartoons, but the girl did not want to watch them. She was discovering something amazing, which was a long time ago, but living in her.

Do you know the history of your grandfathers, great-grandfathers, the history of a kind? Maybe this story is your mirror?

Boris Ganago

Parrot

Petya wandered around the house. I'm tired of all the games. Then my mother gave the order to go to the store and also suggested:

Our neighbor, Maria Nikolaevna, broke her leg. She has no one to buy bread. Barely moving around the room. Come on, I'll call and find out if she needs to buy something.

Aunt Masha was delighted with the call. And when the boy brought her a whole bag of groceries, she did not know how to thank him. For some reason I showed Petya an empty cage in which a parrot had recently lived. It was her friend. Aunt Masha looked after him, shared her thoughts, and he took it and flew away. Now she has no one to say a word, no one to care about. And what kind of life is this if there is no one to take care of?

Petya looked at the empty cage, at the crutches, imagined Aunt Mania hobbling around the empty apartment, and an unexpected thought occurred to him. The fact is that he had been saving money for a long time, which was given to him for toys. I couldn't find anything suitable. And now this strange thought - to buy a parrot for Aunt Masha.

Having said goodbye, Petya jumped out into the street. He wanted to go to a pet store, where he had once seen different parrots. But now he looked at them through the eyes of Aunt Masha. Which one could she befriend? Maybe this one will suit her, maybe this one?

Petya decided to ask his neighbor about the fugitive. The next day he told his mother:

Call your aunt Masha ... Maybe she needs something?

Mom even froze, then hugged her son to her and whispered:

So you are becoming a man ... Petya was offended:

Wasn't I a man before?

There was, of course there was, - my mother smiled. - Only now your soul has also woken up ... Thank God!

And what is the soul? - the boy was alerted.

It is the ability to love.

Mom looked at her son inquiringly:

Maybe you can call yourself?

Petya was embarrassed. Mom answered the phone: Maria Nikolaevna, excuse me, Petya has a question for you. I'll hand him over to him now.

There was nowhere to go, and Petya muttered in embarrassment:

Aunt Masha, can I buy you something?

What happened on the other end of the line, Petya did not understand, only the neighbor answered in an unusual voice. She thanked him and asked him to bring milk if he went to the store. She doesn't need anything else. Thanked again.

When Petya called her apartment, he heard a hurried knock of crutches. Aunt Masha did not want to make him wait extra seconds.

While the neighbor was looking for money, the boy, as if by chance, began to ask her about the missing parrot. Aunt Masha willingly talked about both color and behavior ...

There were several parrots of this color in the pet store. Petya took a long time to choose. When he brought his present to Aunt Masha, then ... I do not presume to describe what happened next.

An excerpt from the story
Chapter II

My mommy

I had a mommy, affectionate, kind, sweet. Mom and I lived in a small house on the banks of the Volga. The house was so clean and light, and from the windows of our apartment one could see the wide, beautiful Volga, and huge two-story steamers, and barges, and a pier on the shore, and crowds of walking people who went out to this pier at certain hours to meet the arriving steamers ... And Mom and I went there, only rarely, very rarely: Mom gave lessons in our city, and she was not allowed to walk with me as often as I would like. Mom said:

Wait, Lenusha, I'll save up some money and transfer you along the Volga from our Rybinsk all the way to Astrakhan! Then we'll walk up to our heart's content.
I was happy and waited for spring.
By the spring, mom saved up a little money, and we decided to fulfill our idea with the very first warm days.
- As soon as the Volga is cleared of ice, we will roll with you! - Mom said, affectionately stroking my head.
But when the ice broke, she caught a cold and began to cough. The ice passed, the Volga cleared up, and mommy kept coughing and coughing endlessly. She became somehow thin and transparent, like wax, and she kept sitting by the window, looking at the Volga and repeating:
- Here the cough will pass, I will recover a little, and we will ride with you to Astrakhan, Lenusha!
But the cough and cold did not go away; the summer was damp and cold this year, and mom was getting thinner, paler and more transparent every day.
Autumn has come. September came up. Long lines of cranes stretched over the Volga, flying to warm countries. Mom no longer sat by the window in the living room, but lay on the bed and shivered from the cold all the time, while she herself was hot as fire.
Once she called me over to her and said:
- Listen, Lenusha. Your mom will soon leave you forever ... But do not grieve, darling. I will always look at you from the sky and rejoice at the good deeds of my girl, and ...
I did not let her finish and cried bitterly. And mummy also began to cry, and her eyes became sad, sad, the same exactly like that of the angel whom I saw on the big image in our church.
Having calmed down a little, Mom spoke again:
- I feel that the Lord will soon take me to Himself, and His holy will be done! Be a clever girl without a mother, pray to God and remember me ... You will go to live with your uncle, my brother, who lives in Petersburg ... I wrote to him about you and asked him to shelter an orphan ...
Something hurt, hurt at the word "orphan" squeezed my throat ...
I sobbed, cried and huddled at my mother's bed. Maryushka came (the cook, who lived with us for nine whole years, from the very year of my birth, and who loved my mother and me without memory) and took me to her place, saying that "mother needs peace."
All in tears I fell asleep that night on Maryushka's bed, and in the morning ... Oh, what happened in the morning! ..
I woke up very early, it seems, at six o'clock, and wanted to run straight to my mother.
At that moment Maryushka entered and said:
- Pray to God, Lenochka: God took your mother to him. Your mom died.
- Mom died! I echoed.
And suddenly I felt so cold, cold! Then my head began to rustle, and the whole room, and Maryushka, and the ceiling, and the table, and chairs - everything turned upside down and began to spin in my eyes, and I no longer remember what became of me after that. I think I fell to the floor unconscious ...
I woke up when my mother was already lying in a large white box, in a white dress, with a white wreath on her head. An old gray priest read prayers, the singers sang, and Maryushka prayed at the threshold of the bedroom. Some old women came and also prayed, then they looked at me with regret, shook their heads and mumbled something with their toothless mouths ...
- Orphan! Round orphan! - also shaking her head and looking at me pityingly, Maryushka said and cried. The old ladies also cried ...
On the third day Maryushka took me to the white box in which Mommy was lying and told me to kiss Mommy's hand. Then the priest blessed Mom, the singers sang something very sad; some men came up, closed the white box and carried it out of our house ...
I cried out loud. But then the old women familiar to me arrived in time, saying that they were carrying Mommy to be buried and that there was no need to cry, but to pray.
They brought the white box to the church, we defended the mass, and then again some people came up, lifted the box and carried it to the cemetery. A deep black hole had already been dug there, and Mom's coffin had been lowered into it. Then they threw earth at the pit, put a white cross over it, and Maryushka took me home.
On the way, she told me that in the evening she would take me to the station, put me on a train and send me to Petersburg to my uncle.
“I don’t want to see my uncle,” I said gloomily, “I don’t know any uncle and I’m afraid to go to him!”
But Maryushka said that she was ashamed to tell the big girl that way, that Mom hears it and that my words hurt her.
Then I became quiet and began to recall my uncle's face.
I have never seen my St. Petersburg uncle, but there was a portrait of him in my mom's album. He was depicted on it in a gold embroidered uniform, with many orders and with a star on his chest. He looked very important, and I was involuntarily afraid of him.
After dinner, which I barely touched, Maryushka put all my dresses and underwear in an old suitcase, gave me tea and took me to the station.

Lydia Charskaya
NOTES OF A LITTLE GYMNASIST

An excerpt from the story
Chapter XXI
To the sound of the wind and the whistle of a blizzard

The wind whistled, squealed, groaned and hummed in different ways. Now in a pitiful thin voice, now in a rough bass roll he sang his battle song. The lanterns flickered faintly through the huge white flakes of snow that poured abundantly on the sidewalks, on the street, on carriages, horses and passers-by. And I kept walking and walking, everything forward and forward ...
Nyurochka told me:
“You first have to go through a long big street, on which there are such tall houses and luxurious shops, then turn right, then left, then right again and left again, and then everything goes straight, right to the very end - to our house. You will immediately recognize him. It is near the cemetery itself, there is also a white church ... so beautiful. "
I did so. Everything went straight, as it seemed to me, along a long and wide street, but I did not see either high buildings or luxurious shops. Everything was obscured from my eyes by a white, like a shroud, living loose wall of silently falling huge flakes of snow. I turned right, then left, then right again, doing everything with precision, as Nyurochka told me - and everything went, went, went without end.
The wind mercilessly ruffled the floors of my burnusik, piercing me through and through with cold. Flakes of snow hit the face. Now I was not walking as fast as before. My legs were like lead filled with fatigue, my whole body was trembling with cold, my hands were numb, and I could hardly move my fingers. Having turned right and left for almost the fifth time, I now followed a straight path. Quietly, faintly flickering lights of lanterns came across to me less and less ... The noise from the ride of horses and carriages in the streets subsided considerably, and the path along which I walked seemed to me deaf and deserted.
Finally the snow began to thin; the huge flakes didn't fall so often now. The distance cleared up a little, but instead it was such a dense twilight all around me that I could barely make out the road.
Now no driving noise, no voices, no coachman's exclamations could be heard around me.
What silence! What a dead silence! ..
But what is it?
My eyes, already accustomed to the semi-darkness, now distinguish their surroundings. Lord, where am I?
No houses, no streets, no carriages, no pedestrians. In front of me is an endless, huge snowy space ... Some forgotten buildings along the edges of the road ... Some fences, and in front there is something huge, black. It must be a park or a forest - I don't know.
I turned back ... Lights flicker behind me ... lights ... lights ... How many of them! Endlessly ... without counting!
- Lord, this is a city! The city, of course! I exclaim. - And I went to the outskirts ...
Nyurochka said that they live on the outskirts. Yes of course! That which is getting dark in the distance is the cemetery! There is a church, and, before reaching, their house! Everything, everything turned out as she said. And I was scared! That's silly!
And with joyful animation I again walked briskly forward.
But it was not there!
My feet now hardly obeyed me. I could hardly move them out of fatigue. The incredible cold made me tremble from head to toe, my teeth chattered, my head was noisy, and something hit my temples with all its might. Added to all this was a strange drowsiness. I was so sleepy, so sleepy!
"Well, well, a little more - and you will be with your friends, you will see Nikifor Matveyevich, Nyura, their mother, Seryozha!" - I mentally encouraged myself as best I could ...
But that didn't help either.
My legs barely moved, I now with difficulty pulled them, now one, then the other, out of the deep snow. But they move more and more slowly, more and more ... quieter ... And the noise in my head becomes more and more audible, and more and more something hits my temples ...
Finally, I can't stand it and sink into a snowdrift that has formed at the edge of the road.
Oh, how good! How sweet it is to rest so! Now I feel neither fatigue nor pain ... Some kind of pleasant warmth spreads throughout my body ... Oh, how good it is! I would have sat here and not gone anywhere from here! And if it had not been for the desire to find out what happened to Nikifor Matveyevich, and to visit him, healthy or sick, - I would certainly have fallen asleep here for an hour or two ... Deeply asleep! Moreover, the cemetery is not far ... You can see it there. A verst or two, no more ...
The snow stopped falling, the blizzard subsided a little, and the month swam out from behind the clouds.
Oh, it would be better if the month did not shine and I would not know at least the sad reality!
No cemetery, no church, no houses - there is nothing ahead! .. Only the forest turns black with a huge black spot far away, but the white dead field spreads around me in an endless veil ...
Horror gripped me.
Now I just realized that I was lost.

Lev Tolstoy

Swans

Swans flew in a herd from the cold side to the warm lands. They flew across the sea. They flew day and night, and on another day and another night they flew without resting over the water. It was a full month in the sky, and the swans, far below them, saw the blue water. All the swans were starving, flapping their wings; but they did not stop and flew on. Old, strong swans flew in front, those that were younger and weaker flew behind. One young swan flew behind everyone. His strength weakened. He flapped his wings and could not fly further. Then he spread his wings and went down. He descended closer and closer to the water; and his companions farther and farther gleamed in the monthly light. The swan descended into the water and folded its wings. The sea stirred under him and shook him. The herd of swans was slightly visible as a white line in the bright sky. And you could barely hear in the silence how their wings rang. When they were completely out of sight, the swan bent back its neck and closed its eyes. He did not move, and only the sea, rising and falling in a wide strip, raised and lowered him. Before dawn, a light breeze began to sway the sea. And the water splashed into the white chest of the swan. The swan opened his eyes. In the east, the dawn turned red, and the moon and the stars became paler. The swan sighed, stretched out his neck and flapped his wings, got up and flew, catching his wings on the water. He climbed higher and higher and flew alone over the dark undulating waves.

Paulo Coelho
Parable "The Secret of Happiness"

One merchant sent his son to learn the Secret of Happiness from the wisest of all people. The young man walked for forty days through the desert and,
finally, he came to the beautiful castle, which stood on the top of the mountain. There also lived the sage he was looking for. However, instead of the expected meeting with a wise man, our hero found himself in a hall where everything was seething: merchants entered and exited, people talked in the corner, a small orchestra played sweet melodies and there was a table laden with the most exquisite dishes of this area. The sage talked with different people, and the young man had to wait for his turn for about two hours.
The sage listened attentively to the young man's explanations about the purpose of his visit, but said in response that he did not have time to reveal the Secret of Happiness to him. And he invited him to walk around the palace and come back two hours later.
“However, I want to ask you for one favor,” added the sage, holding out a small spoon to the young man, into which he dropped two drops of oil. - All the time you walk, hold this spoon in your hand so that the oil does not spill out.
The young man began to climb and descend the palace stairs, not taking his eyes off the spoon. Two hours later, he returned to the sage.
- Well, - he asked, - have you seen the Persian carpets that are in my dining room? Have you seen the park that the head gardener has been creating for ten years? Have you noticed the beautiful parchments in my library?
The embarrassed young man had to admit that he had not seen anything. His only concern was not to spill the drops of oil that the sage had entrusted to him.
“Well, come back and see the wonders of my universe,” the sage told him. - You cannot trust a person if you are not familiar with the house in which he lives.
Reassured, the young man took a spoon and again went for a walk around the palace; this time, paying attention to all the works of art hung on the walls and ceilings of the palace. He saw gardens surrounded by mountains, the most delicate flowers, the refinement with which each of the works of art was placed exactly where it was needed.
Returning to the sage, he described in detail everything that he saw.
- And where are those two drops of oil that I entrusted you? The Sage asked.
And the young man, looking at the spoon, found that all the oil had poured out.
- This is the only advice that I can give you: The Secret of Happiness is to look at all the wonders of the world, while never forgetting about two drops of oil in your spoon.

Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "NEVOD"

And again, once again, the net brought a rich catch. The fishermen's baskets were filled to the brim with chubs, carp, tench, pike, eel and many other foods. Whole fish families
with children and households, were taken to market stalls and were preparing to end their existence, writhing in agony in hot pans and boiling boilers.
The fish remaining in the river, confused and overwhelmed by fear, not daring to even swim, buried themselves deeper into the silt. How to live on? You cannot cope with the seine alone. It is thrown in the most unexpected places every day. He mercilessly kills fish, and in the end the whole river will be devastated.
- We must think about the fate of our children. No one, except us, will take care of them and will not relieve them of a terrible obsession, - reasoned the minnows, who had gathered for a council under a large snag.
“But what can we do?” The tench asked timidly, listening to the speeches of the daredevils.
- Destroy the seine! - the minnows answered in a single impulse. On the same day, the omniscient nimble eels spread the news along the river
about the bold decision taken. All fish, young and old, were asked to gather at dawn tomorrow in a deep, quiet backwater protected by branchy willows.
Thousands of fish of all stripes and ages sailed to the appointed place to declare war on the net.
- Listen carefully! - said the carp, which more than once managed to gnaw through the nets and escape from captivity. - The seine is as wide as our river. To keep it upright under water, lead weights are attached to its lower nodes. I order all fish to split into two schools. The first should lift the sinkers from the bottom to the surface, and the second flock will firmly hold the upper nodes of the net. Pikes are instructed to gnaw through the ropes, with which the seine is attached to both banks.
With bated breath, the fish listened to every word of the leader.
- I order the eels to go on scouting at once! - continued the carp - they have to establish where the net is thrown.
Eels went on a mission, and schools of fish huddled along the shore in agonizing anticipation. The minnows, meanwhile, tried to cheer up the most timid and advised not to panic, even if someone fell into the seine: after all, the fishermen would still not be able to pull him ashore.
Finally the eels returned and reported that the seine had already been cast about one mile down the river.
And so a huge armada of fish swam towards the goal, led by a wise carp.
“Swim carefully!” The leader warned. Work your fins with might and main and brake in time!
A seine appeared ahead, gray and ominous. Seized by a fit of anger, the fish boldly rushed to the attack.
Soon the net was raised from the bottom, the ropes that held it were cut with sharp pike teeth, and the knots were torn. But the angry fish did not calm down on this and continued to pounce on the hated enemy. Grasping the crippled, leaky net with their teeth and working hard with their fins and tails, they dragged it in different directions and tore it to small pieces. The river seemed to be boiling.
The fishermen talked for a long time, scratching their heads, about the mysterious disappearance of the seine, and the fish still proudly tell this story to their children.

Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "PELICAN"
As soon as the pelican went in search of food, the viper sitting in ambush immediately crawled, stealthily, to his nest. Fluffy chicks slept peacefully, unaware of anything. The snake crawled close to them. Her eyes flashed with an ominous gleam - and the massacre began.
Having received a fatal bite, the serenely sleeping chicks did not wake up.
Satisfied with what she had done, the villain crawled into shelter to enjoy the bird's grief to her fullest.
Soon the pelican returned from hunting. At the sight of the brutal massacre perpetrated on the chicks, he burst into loud sobs, and all the inhabitants of the forest fell silent, shocked by the unheard of cruelty.
“Without you I have no life now!” The unfortunate father lamented, looking at the dead children. “May I die with you!
And he began to tear his chest at the very heart with his beak. Hot blood gushed in streams from the open wound, sprinkling the lifeless chicks.
Losing its last strength, the dying pelican cast a farewell glance at the nest with the dead chicks and suddenly shuddered from surprise.
About a miracle! His shed blood and parental love brought the dear chicks back to life, snatching them from the clutches of death. And then, happy, he gave up his ghost.

Lucky
Sergey Silin

Antoshka was running down the street, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jacket, stumbled and, falling, had time to think: "I'll break my nose!" But he didn't have time to get his hands out of his pockets.
And suddenly, right in front of him, unknown from there, appeared a small strong peasant the size of a cat.
The peasant stretched out his hands and took Antoshka on them, softening the blow.
Antoshka rolled onto his side, got up on one knee and looked at the peasant in surprise:
- Who are you?
- Lucky.
- Who-who?
- Lucky. I will make sure that you are lucky.
- Does every person have a lucky one? - asked Antoshka.
- No, there are not so many of us, - answered the little man. - We just go from one to the other. From today I will be with you.
- I'm starting to get lucky! - Antoshka was delighted.
- Exactly! - Lucky nodded.
- And when will you leave me for another?
- When required. I remember that I served one merchant for several years. And one pedestrian was helped for only two seconds.
- Aha! - Antoshka wondered. - So I need
anything to wish for?
- No no! - the peasant raised his hands in protest. - I'm not a wish-doer! I only help the quick-witted and hardworking a little. I just stay close and do it so that the person is lucky. Where is my invisibility cap gone?
He fumbled around him with his hands, felt for the invisibility cap, put it on and disappeared.
- Are you here? - just in case, asked Antoshka.
- Here, here - said Lucky. - Do not pay on
attention me. Antoshka put his hands in his pockets and ran home. And wow, I was lucky: I managed to start the cartoon minute by minute!
Mom came home from work an hour later.
- And I got the prize! she said with a smile. -
Go shopping!
And she went into the kitchen for the bags.
- Did your mother also have a Lucky one? - Antoshka asked his assistant in a whisper.
- No. She is lucky because we are close.
- Mom, I'm with you! - shouted Antoshka.
They returned home two hours later with a heap of purchases.
- Just a streak of luck! - Mom was surprised, eyes shining. - All my life I dreamed of such a blouse!
- And I mean such a cake! - Antoshka answered cheerfully from the bathroom.
The next day at school he received three A's, two A's, found two rubles and made up with Vasya Poteryashkin.
And when, whistling, he returned home, he found that he had lost the keys to the apartment.
- Lucky, where are you? he called.
A tiny, scruffy woman peeked out from under the stairs. Her hair was disheveled, her nose was torn, her dirty sleeve was torn, her shoes were begging for porridge.
- And there was no need to whistle! - she smiled and added: - I'm bad luck! What, upset, huh? ..
Don't worry, don't worry! The time will come, they will call me away from you!
- I see, - Antoshka was depressed. - A streak of bad luck begins ...
- That's for sure! - Nevezuha nodded happily and, stepping into the wall, disappeared.
In the evening, Antoshka received a scolding from his dad for the lost key, accidentally broke his mother's favorite cup, forgot what was asked in Russian, and could not finish reading the book of fairy tales, because he left it at school.
And right in front of the window a phone call rang out:
- Antoshka, is that you? It's me, Lucky!
- Hello, traitor! - Antoshka muttered. - And who are you helping now?
But Lucky did not take offense at the "traitor".
- One old lady. Imagine, she was unlucky all her life! So my boss sent me to her.
Tomorrow I'll help her win a million rubles in the lottery, and I'll come back to you!
- Truth? - Antoshka was delighted.
- True, true, - answered Lucky and hung up.
At night Antoshka had a dream. As if she and Lucky were dragging four string bags of Antoshka's favorite tangerines from the store, and a lonely old woman who was lucky for the first time in her life smiles at them from the window of the house opposite.

Charskaya Lidia Alekseevna

Lusin's life

Princess Miguel

"Far, far away, at the very end of the world, there was a large beautiful blue lake, similar in color to a huge sapphire. In the middle of this lake, on a green emerald island, among myrtle and wisteria, entwined with green ivy and flexible vines, stood a high rock. On it stood a marble rock. the palace behind which was laid out a wonderful garden, fragrant with aroma, it was a very special garden, which can be found only in fairy tales.

The owner of the island and the adjacent lands was the powerful king Ovar. And the king's daughter grew up in the palace, the beautiful Miguel - princess "...

A fairy tale floats and unfolds like a colorful ribbon. A number of beautiful, fantastic pictures swirl before my spiritual gaze. Aunt Musi's usually ringing voice is now reduced to a whisper. Mysterious and cozy in a green ivy gazebo. The lacy shadow of the trees and bushes surrounding her cast moving spots on the pretty face of the young storyteller. This tale is my favorite. Since the day my dear nanny Fenya left us, who knew so well to tell me about the little girl Thumbelina, I have listened with pleasure to the only fairy tale about Princess Miguel. I love my princess dearly, despite all her cruelty. Is it her fault, this green-eyed, soft pink and golden-haired princess, that when she was born into the world of God, the fairies instead of a heart put a piece of diamond in her baby's small breast? And that a direct consequence of this was the complete absence of pity in the soul of the princess. But how beautiful she was! It is beautiful even in those minutes when, with the movement of a tiny white hand, she sent people to a fierce death. Those people who accidentally fell into the mysterious garden of the princess.

There were little children in that garden among roses and lilies. Immobile, pretty elves, chained to gold pegs with silver chains, watched over that garden, and at the same time pitifully rang their bells voices.

Let us go free! Let go, beautiful princess Miguel! Let us go! “Their complaints sounded like music. And this music had a pleasant effect on the princess, and she often laughed at the prayers of her little captives.

But their plaintive voices touched the hearts of people passing by the garden. And they looked into the mysterious garden of the princess. Ah, they did not appear here for joy! At each such appearance of an uninvited guest, the guards ran out, grabbed the visitor and, at the order of the princess, threw him into the lake from a cliff

And Princess Miguel laughed only in response to the desperate cries and groans of the drowning ...

Even now, I still cannot understand how my pretty, cheerful aunt came up with such a terrible in essence, such a gloomy and difficult fairy tale! The heroine of this fairy tale - Princess Miguel, of course, was an invention of a sweet, slightly windy, but very kind aunt Musya. Ah, all the same, let everyone think that this is a fairy tale, an invention and the princess Miguel herself, but she, my marvelous princess, has firmly settled in my impressionable heart ... She ever existed or not, what was in essence to me before it was the case when I loved her, my beautiful cruel Miguel! I saw her in a dream and more than once, I saw her golden hair the color of a ripe ear, her green, like a forest pool, deep eyes.

That year I was six years old. I was already sorting out the warehouses and, with the help of Aunt Musya, wrote gnarled, obliquely and at random letters instead of sticks. And I already understood beauty. The fabulous beauty of nature: sun, forest, flowers. And my eyes lit up with delight at the sight of a beautiful picture or an elegant illustration on a magazine page.

Aunt Musya, dad and grandmother tried from my very early age to develop an aesthetic taste in me, drawing my attention to what passed without a trace for other children.

Look, Lyusenka, what a beautiful sunset! You see how wonderfully the crimson sun sinks in the pond! Look, look, now the water has become completely scarlet. And the surrounding trees seem to be on fire.

I look and all boil with delight. Indeed, scarlet water, scarlet trees and scarlet sun. What's the beautiful!

Y. Yakovlev Girls from Vasilievsky Island

I am Valya Zaitseva from Vasilievsky Island.

I have a hamster under my bed. He will fill his full cheeks, in reserve, sit on his hind legs and look with black buttons ... Yesterday I kicked one boy off. Weighed him a good bream. We, Vasileostrovsk girls, know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary ...

It's always windy here on Vasilievsky. The rain is falling. Pours wet snow. Floods happen. And our island floats like a ship: on the left is the Neva, on the right is the Nevka, in front is the open sea.

I have a girlfriend - Tanya Savicheva. We are neighbors with her. She is from the Second line, house 13. Four windows on the first floor. Nearby there is a bakery, in the basement there is a kerosene shop ... Now there is no shop, but in Tanino, when I was not yet in the world, the first floor always smelled of kerosene. They told me.

Tanya Savicheva was the same age as I am now. She could have grown up long ago, become a teacher, but she has remained a girl forever ... When my grandmother sent Tanya for kerosene, I was gone. And she went to Rumyantsevsky Garden with another friend. But I know all about her. They told me.

She was a songstress. She always sang. She wanted to recite poetry, but she stumbled on the words: she will stumble, and everyone thinks that she has forgotten the right word. My girlfriend sang because when you sing, you don't stutter. She could not stutter, she was going to become a teacher, like Linda Avgustovna.

She always played teacher. He puts a big grandmother's scarf on his shoulders, folds his hands in a lock and walks from corner to corner. "Children, today we will do the repetition with you ..." And then he stumbles over a word, blushes and turns to the wall, although there is no one in the room.

They say there are doctors who treat stuttering. I would find one. We, Vasileostrovsky girls, will find whoever you want! But now a doctor is no longer needed. She stayed there ... my friend Tanya Savicheva. She was taken from besieged Leningrad to the mainland, and the road, called the Road of Life, could not give Tanya life.

The girl died of hunger ... Does it really matter why she dies - from hunger or from a bullet. Maybe hunger hurts even more ...

I decided to find the Way of Life. I went to Rzhevka, where this road begins. She walked two and a half kilometers - there the guys were building a monument to the children who died in the blockade. I also wanted to build.

Some adults asked me:

- Who are you?

- I am Valya Zaitseva from Vasilievsky Island. I also want to build.

I was told:

- It is forbidden! Come with your neighborhood.

I didn't leave. I looked around and saw a baby, a tadpole. I grabbed onto it:

- He also came with his area?

- He came with his brother.

With my brother, you can. With the area you can. But what about being alone?

I told them:

- You see, I don't just want to build. I want to build for my friend ... Tanya Savicheva.

They rolled their eyes. They didn’t believe it. They asked again:

- Tanya Savicheva is your friend?

- And what is special here? We are of the same age. Both are from Vasilievsky Island.

- But she's not there ...

How stupid people, and even adults! What do you mean "no" if we are friends? I told them to understand:

- We have everything in common. Both the street and the school. We have a hamster. He will fill his cheeks ...

I noticed that they do not believe me. And so that they would believe, she blurted out:

- We even have the same handwriting!

- Handwriting? - They were even more surprised.

- And what? Handwriting!

Suddenly they cheered up, from the handwriting:

- It is very good! This is just a find. Come with us.

- I'm not going anywhere. I want to build ...

- You will build! You will write in Tanya's handwriting for the monument.

“I can,” I agreed. “Only I don’t have a pencil. Will you give?

- You will write on concrete. They don't write on concrete with a pencil.

I never wrote on concrete. I wrote on the walls, on the asphalt, but they brought me to the concrete plant and gave Tanya a diary - a notebook with the alphabet: a, b, c ... I have the same book. For forty kopecks.

I took Tanya's diary in my hands and opened the page. It said:

I felt cold. I wanted to give them the book and leave.

But I'm Vasileostrovskaya. And if a friend's older sister died, I should stay with her, not run away.

- Let's get your concrete. I will write.

The crane lowered a huge frame of thick gray dough at my feet. I took my wand, squatted down and began to write. The concrete smelled cold. It was difficult to write. And they told me:

- Do not rush.

I made mistakes, smoothed the concrete with my palm, and wrote again.

I was bad at it.

- Do not rush. Write calmly.

While I was writing about Zhenya, my grandmother died.

If you just want to eat, this is not hunger - you eat an hour later.

I tried to starve from morning to evening. Endured. Hunger - when your head, hands, heart are hungry day after day - everything you have is starving. First he starves, then dies.

Leka had his own corner, fenced off by cupboards, he drew there.

He earned money by drawing and studied. He was quiet and short-sighted, wearing glasses, and all squeaked in his ruling pen. They told me.

Where did he die? Probably in the kitchen, where the "potbelly stove" smoked with a small weak engine, where they slept, they ate bread once a day. A small piece, like a cure for death. Leka did not have enough medicine ...

- Write, - they told me quietly.

In the new frame, the concrete was liquid, it crawled over the letters. And the word "died" disappeared. I didn't want to write it again. But I was told:

- Write, Valya Zaitseva, write.

And I wrote again - "died".

I am very tired of writing the word "died". I knew that with each page of the diary, Tanya Savicheva was getting worse. She stopped singing long ago and did not notice that she was stuttering. She no longer played teacher. But she did not give up - she lived. They told me ... Spring has come. The trees turned green. We have a lot of trees on Vasilievsky. Tanya dried up, froze, became thin and light. Her hands were trembling and her eyes ached from the sun. The Nazis killed half of Tanya Savicheva, and maybe more than half. But her mother was with her, and Tanya held on.

- What are you not writing? - they told me quietly. - Write, Valya Zaitseva, otherwise the concrete will harden.

For a long time I did not dare to open a page with the letter "M". On this page, Tanya's hand was written: “Mom on May 13 at 7.30 o'clock.

in the morning of 1942 ". Tanya did not write the word "died". She didn't have the strength to write the word.

I gripped the wand tightly and touched the concrete. I did not look into the diary, but wrote by heart. It's good that our handwriting is the same.

I wrote with all my might. The concrete became thick, almost frozen. He no longer crawled over the letters.

- Can you write more?

- I will add, - I answered and turned away so as not to see my eyes. After all, Tanya Savicheva is my ... friend.

Tanya and I are the same age, we, Vasileostrovsk girls, know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary. If she had not been Vasileostrovskaya, Leningrad, she would not have lasted so long. But she lived - that means she did not give up!

Opened the "C" page. There were two words: "The Savichevs are dead."

Opened the page "U" - "All died." The last page of Tanya Savicheva's diary was marked with the letter "O" - "Tanya is the only one left."

And I imagined that it was me, Valya Zaitseva, who was left alone: ​​without a mother, without a father, without a sister, Lyulka. Hungry. Under fire.

In an empty apartment on the Second Line. I wanted to cross out that last page, but the concrete hardened and the stick broke.

And suddenly, to myself, I asked Tanya Savicheva: “Why alone?

And I? You also have a friend - Valya Zaitseva, your neighbor from Vasilievsky Island. We will go with you to the Rumyantsevsky Garden, run, and when we get tired, I will bring my grandmother's handkerchief from the house, and we will play the teacher Linda Avgustovna. I have a hamster under my bed. I'll give it to you for your birthday. Do you hear, Tanya Savicheva? "

Someone put a hand on my shoulder and said:

- Come on, Valya Zaitseva. You've done everything that needs to be done. Thanks.

I did not understand why they were saying "thank you" to me. I said:

- I'll come tomorrow ... without my district. Can?

“Come without a district,” they told me. - Come.

My girlfriend Tanya Savicheva did not shoot at the Nazis and was not a scout among the partisans. She just lived in her hometown during the most difficult time. But, perhaps, the Nazis did not enter Leningrad because Tanya Savicheva lived in it and many other girls and boys lived there, who remained forever in their time. And today's guys are friends with them, as I am friends with Tanya.

And after all, they are friends only with the living.

Vladimir Zheleznyakov "Scarecrow"

A circle of their faces flashed in front of me, and I rushed about in it, like a squirrel in a wheel.

I should stop and leave.

The boys pounced on me.

“For her legs! - shouted Valka. - By the legs! .. "

They knocked me down and grabbed me by the legs and arms. I kicked and jerked with all my might, but they tied me up and dragged me out into the garden.

Iron Button and Shmakova dragged out a scarecrow mounted on a long stick. Dimka followed them and stood aside. The scarecrow was in my dress, with my eyes, with my mouth up to my ears. The legs were made of stockings stuffed with straw, tow and some kind of feathers stuck out instead of hair. On my neck, that is, a scarecrow, dangled a plaque with the words: "SCARE IS A TRAITOR."

Lenka fell silent and somehow all faded away.

Nikolai Nikolaevich realized that the limit of her story and the limit of her strength had come.

- And they had fun around the stuffed animal, - said Lenka. - They jumped and laughed:

"Wow, our beauty-ah!"

"Wait!"

“I made it up! I came up with it! - Shmakova jumped for joy. - Let Dimka light the fire! .. "

After these words of Shmakova, I completely ceased to be afraid. I thought: if Dimka sets fire, then maybe I'll just die.

And Valka at this time - he was the first to do everything everywhere - stuck the scarecrow into the ground and poured brushwood around it.

“I have no matches,” Dimka said quietly.

"But I have!" - Shaggy stuck matches into Dimke's hand and pushed him towards the stuffed animal.

Dimka stood near the stuffed animal, his head lowered.

I froze - waited for the last time! Well, I thought he would now look around and say: "Guys, Lenka is not to blame for anything ... All of me!"

"Set it on fire!" - ordered the Iron Button.

I broke down and shouted:

“Dimka! Don't, Dimka-ah-ah! .. "

And he was still standing near the scarecrow - I could see his back, he slouched over and seemed somehow small. Maybe because the stuffed animal was on a long stick. Only he was small and weak.

“Well, Somov! - said the Iron Button. - Go, finally, to the end! "

Dimka fell to his knees and dropped his head so low that only his shoulders protruded, and his head was not visible at all. It turned out to be some kind of headless arsonist. He struck a match, and a flame of fire rose over his shoulders. Then he jumped up and hurriedly ran to the side.

They dragged me close to the fire. I, without looking up, looked at the flame of the fire. Granddad! I felt then how this fire engulfed me, how it burns, bakes and bites, although only waves of its heat reached me.

I screamed, I screamed so that they let me go out of surprise.

When they released me, I rushed to the fire and began to scatter it with my feet, grabbed the burning branches with my hands - I did not want the stuffed animal to burn. For some reason I did not want this terribly!

Dimka was the first to come to his senses.

“Are you crazy? He grabbed my hand and tried to pull me away from the fire. - This is a joke! Don't you understand the jokes? "

I became strong, easily defeated him. I pushed him so hard that he flew upside down - only his heels flashed to the sky. And she herself pulled a scarecrow out of the fire and began to swing it over her head, stepping on everyone. The scarecrow had already caught fire, sparks flew from it in different directions, and all of them scared away from these sparks.

They scattered.

And I was so spinning, accelerating them, that I could not stop until I fell. A scarecrow lay next to me. It was scorched, fluttering in the wind, and from this it felt as if it were alive.

At first I lay with my eyes closed. Then I felt that it smelled like burnt, opened my eyes - the dress of the scarecrow was smoking. I swatted the smoldering hem with my hand and lay back on the grass.

There was a crunch of branches, receding footsteps, and there was silence.

"Anya of Green Gables" by Lucy Maud Montgomery

It was already quite light when Anya woke up and sat up in bed, looking in perplexity out the window through which a stream of joyful sunlight was pouring and behind which something white and fluffy swayed against the background of a bright blue sky.

For the first moment, she could not remember where she was. At first she felt a delightful thrill, as if something very pleasant had happened, then a terrible memory appeared. It was Green Gables, but they did not want to leave her here, because she is not a boy!

But it was morning, and outside the window stood a cherry, all in bloom. Anya jumped out of bed and in one leap found herself at the window. Then she pushed open the window frame - the frame gave a creak, as if it had not been opened for a long time, which, however, it really was - and knelt down, peering into the June morning. Her eyes glittered with delight. Ah, isn't that wonderful? Isn't this a lovely place? If she could stay here! She will imagine what remains. There is room for imagination here.

The huge cherry grew so close to the window that its branches touched the house. It was so densely covered with flowers that not a single leaf could be seen. On both sides of the house stretched large gardens, on one side - apple, on the other - cherry, all in bloom. The grass under the trees looked yellow with dandelions in bloom. A little further away in the garden were lilac bushes, all in clusters of bright purple flowers, and the morning breeze carried their dizzyingly sweet scent to Anya's window.

Beyond the garden, green meadows covered with succulent clover sloped down to a valley where a stream ran and a multitude of white birches grew, slender trunks of which rose above the undergrowth, suggesting a wonderful rest among ferns, mosses and forest grasses. Beyond the valley was a hill, green and fluffy with spruce and fir. There was a small gap among them, and into it was the gray mezzanine of the house that Anya had seen on the other side of the Lake of Sparkling Waters the day before.

To the left were large barns and other outbuildings, and beyond them, green fields descended down to the sparkling blue sea.

Anya's eyes, receptive to beauty, slowly passed from one picture to another, eagerly absorbing everything that was in front of her. The poor woman has seen so many ugly places in her life. But what opened before her now surpassed her wildest dreams.

She knelt, forgetting about everything except the beauty that surrounded her, until she shuddered when she felt a hand on her shoulder. The little dreamer did not hear Marilla enter.

“It's time to get dressed,” said Marilla shortly.

Marilla simply did not know how to talk to this child, and this unpleasantness of her own ignorance made her harsh and decisive against her will.

Anya stood up with a deep sigh.

- Ah. isn't it wonderful? She asked, pointing at the beautiful world outside the window.

“Yes, it’s a big tree,” said Marilla, “and it blooms profusely, but the cherries themselves are no good — small and wormy.

“Oh, I'm not just talking about the tree; of course, it is beautiful ... yes, it is dazzlingly beautiful ... it blooms as if it is extremely important for him ... But I meant everything: the garden, and the trees, and the stream, and the forests - the whole big beautiful world. On a morning like this, don't you feel like you love the whole world? Even here I can hear the stream laughing in the distance. Have you ever noticed what joyful creatures these streams are? They are always laughing. Even in winter I can hear them laughing from under the ice. I’m so glad there’s a stream here by the Green Gables. Maybe you think it doesn't matter to me if you don't want to leave me here? But this is not the case. I will always be pleased to remember that there is a stream near the Green Gables, even if I never see it again. If there was no brook here, I would always have the unpleasant feeling that he should have been here. I'm not in the midst of grief this morning. I am never in the abyss of grief in the morning. Isn't it wonderful that it is morning? But I'm very sad. I just imagined that you still need me and that I will stay here forever, forever. It was a great comfort to imagine that. But the most unpleasant thing about imagining things is that there comes a moment when you have to stop imagining, and this is very painful.

“You better get dressed, go downstairs and don’t think about your imaginary things,” said Marilla, as soon as she managed to get a word in. - Breakfast is waiting. Wash your face and comb your hair. Leave the window open and unfold the bed to ventilate. And hurry up, please.

Anya, obviously, could act quickly when it was required, because after ten minutes she came downstairs, neatly dressed, with her hair combed and braided into braids, and a washed face; at the same time her soul was filled with a pleasant consciousness that she had fulfilled all Marilla's demands. However, in fairness, it should be noted that she still forgot to open the bed for airing.

“I'm very hungry today,” she announced, slipping into the chair Marilla had pointed out to her. “The world no longer seems such a gloomy desert as it did last night. I'm so glad the morning is sunny. However, I love rainy mornings too. Any morning is interesting, isn't it? It is not known what awaits us on this day, and there is so much room for imagination. But I am glad that today there is no rain, because it is easier not to lose heart and steadfastly endure the vicissitudes of fate on a sunny day. I feel like I have a lot to go through today. It's very easy to read about other people's misfortunes and imagine that we could heroically overcome them, but it's not so easy when we really have to face them, right?

“For God's sake, hold your tongue,” said Marilla. “The little girl shouldn't talk so much.

After this remark, Anne fell silent completely, so obediently that her continued silence began to irritate Marilla somewhat, as something not entirely natural. Matthew was silent too — but that was at least natural — so breakfast passed in complete silence.

As it drew to a close, Anya became more and more distracted. She ate mechanically, and her big eyes gazed unseenly at the sky outside the window. This annoyed Marilla even more. She had the unpleasant feeling that while the body of this strange child was at the table, his spirit was floating on the wings of fantasy in some transcendental country. Who would want to have such a child in the house?

And yet, most incomprehensible, Matthew wanted to leave her! Marilla felt that he wanted it this morning as badly as he had last night, and was going to want it more. It was his usual way of hammering a quirk into his head and clinging to it with an astonishing tacit tenacity - ten times more powerful and effective through silence than if he spoke of his desire from morning to night.

When breakfast was over, Anya got out of her reverie and offered to wash the dishes.

- Do you know how to wash dishes properly? Asked Marilla incredulously.

- Pretty good. True, I am better at babysitting. I have a lot of experience in this business. It's a shame that you don't have children here that I could take care of.

- But I would not at all want to have more children here than at the moment. With you alone is enough trouble. I don’t know what to do with you. Matthew is so funny.

“He seemed very sweet to me,” said Anya reproachfully. - He is very friendly and did not mind at all, no matter how much I said - he seemed to like it. I felt a kindred spirit in him as soon as I saw him.

“You are both eccentric, if you mean that when you talk about kinship,” snorted Marilla. - Okay, you can wash the dishes. Do not feel sorry for hot water and dry it properly. I’ve got a lot of work to do this morning because I’ll have to go to White Sands this afternoon to see Mrs. Spencer. You will go with me, and there we will decide what to do with you. When you're done with the dishes, go upstairs and make the bed.

Anne quickly and thoroughly washed the dishes, which Marilla did not miss. Then she made the bed, albeit with less success, because she had never learned the art of wrestling with a feather bed. Nevertheless, the bed was made, and Marilla, in order to get rid of the girl for a while, said that she would let her go into the garden and play there until dinnertime.

Anne rushed to the door, with a lively face and shining eyes. But on the very threshold, she suddenly stopped, turned sharply back and sat down by the table, the expression of delight disappeared from her face, as if it had been blown away by the wind.

- Well, what else happened? Asked Marilla.

“I dare not go out,” Anne said in the tone of a martyr, renouncing all earthly joys. “If I can't stay here, I shouldn't fall in love with Green Gables. And if I go out and get acquainted with all these trees, flowers, and a garden, and a stream, I cannot help but love them. My heart is already heavy, and I don't want it to get any harder. I so want to go out - everything seems to be calling me: "Anya, Anya, come out to us! Anya, Anya, we want to play with you!" - but it's best not to. You shouldn't fall in love with something from which you have to be torn off forever, right? And it's so hard to resist and not fall in love, isn't it? That's why I was so happy when I thought I was going to stay here. I thought there was so much to love here that nothing would stop me. But this brief dream was over. Now I am reconciled to my rock, so I better not go out. Otherwise, I'm afraid I won't be able to reconcile with him again. What is the name of this flower in a pot on the windowsill, please tell me?

- It's geranium.

- Oh, I don't mean that title. I mean the name you gave her. Didn't you give her a name? Then can I do it? May I call her ... oh let me think ... Sweetheart will do ... can I call her Sweetheart while I'm here? Oh, let me call her that!

- Yes, for God's sake, I don't care. But what is the point in naming geraniums?

“Oh, I like things to have names, even if it's only geranium. This makes them look more like people. How do you know you don’t hurt a geranium’s feelings when you just call it “geranium” and nothing else? After all, you would not like it if you were always called just a woman. Yes, I will call her Sweetheart. I gave the name this morning to this cherry under my bedroom window. I named her the Snow Queen because she is so white. Of course, it won't always be in bloom, but you can always imagine it, right?

“Never in my life have I seen or heard anything like it,” muttered Marilla, fleeing to the basement for potatoes. “She's really interesting, as Matthew says. I can already feel how I am interested in what else she has to say. She puts a spell on me too. And she's already let them in on Matthew. This look, which he threw at me when he left, again expressed everything that he said and what he hinted at yesterday. It would be better if he was like other men and spoke openly about everything. Then it would be possible to answer and convince him. But what can you do with a man who only looks?

When Marilla returned from her pilgrimage to the basement, she found Anya again falling into reverie. The girl sat with her chin in her hands and gazed at the sky. So Marilla left her until dinner appeared on the table.

“Can I borrow a mare and a convertible in the afternoon, Matthew? Asked Marilla.

Matthew nodded and looked sadly at Anya. Marilla caught that glance and said dryly:

“I'm going to go to White Sands and settle the matter. I'll take Anya with me so Mrs. Spencer can send her back to Nova Scotia right away. I'll leave you some tea on the stove and get home in time for milking.

Again Matthew said nothing. Marilla felt that she was wasting her words. Nothing is more annoying than a man who doesn't answer ... except a woman who doesn't answer.

In due time Matthew harnessed the bay, and Marilla and Anne got into the convertible. Matthew opened the courtyard gates for them and, as they slowly passed by, said loudly, to no one, it seemed, addressing:

“There was a kid here this morning, Jerry Buot from Creek, and I told him I’d hire him for the summer.

Marilla did not answer, but whipped the unfortunate bay one with such force that the fat mare, not accustomed to such treatment, galloped indignantly. As the convertible was already rolling down the high road, Marilla turned and saw that the insufferable Matthew was leaning against the gate, looking sadly after them.

Sergey Kutsko

WOLVES

This is how village life is arranged, that if you don't go out into the forest before noon, you don't walk through familiar mushroom and berry places, then by the evening there is nothing to run, everything will be hidden.

So one girl judged. The sun has just risen to the tops of the fir trees, and in my hands is already a full basket, has wandered far, but what mushrooms! With gratitude, she looked around and was just about to leave, when the distant bushes suddenly shuddered and an animal came out into the clearing, his eyes tenaciously following the figure of the girl.

- Oh, dog! - she said.

Cows were grazing somewhere nearby, and their acquaintance in the forest with a shepherd's dog was not a big surprise to them. But meeting with a few more pairs of animal eyes put me into a daze ...

“Wolves,” the thought flashed, “the road is not far away, to run ...” Yes, the forces disappeared, the basket involuntarily fell out of my hands, my legs became wadded and disobedient.

- Mama! - this sudden cry stopped the flock, which had already reached the middle of the clearing. - People, help! - three times swept over the forest.

As the shepherds later said: “We heard screams, we thought the children were indulging ...” It is five kilometers from the village, in the forest!

The wolves approached slowly, a she-wolf walked in front. It happens so with these animals - the she-wolf becomes the head of the pack. Only her eyes were not as ferocious as they were studying. They seemed to be asking: “Well, man? What will you do now, when there is no weapon in your hands, and your relatives are not nearby? "

The girl fell to her knees, covered her eyes with her hands and began to cry. Suddenly the thought of prayer came to her, as if something stirred in her soul, as if the words of her grandmother, remembered from childhood, were resurrected: “Ask the Mother of God! "

The girl did not remember the words of the prayer. Overshadowing herself with the sign of the Cross, she asked the Mother of God, like her mother, in the last hope of intercession and salvation.

When she opened her eyes, the wolves, bypassing the bushes, went into the forest. Ahead, slowly, with her head down, a she-wolf walked.

Boris Ganago

LETTER TO GOD

This happened at the end of the 19th century.

Petersburg. Christmas Eve. A cold, piercing wind blows from the bay. Pours fine prickly snow. The hooves of horses clatter on the cobblestone pavement, the doors of shops slam - the last purchases are made before the holiday. Everyone is in a hurry to quickly get home.

Only a little boy wanders slowly along the snowy street. Every now and then he pulls cold, reddened hands from the pockets of his shabby coat and tries to warm them with his breath. Then he shoves them deeper into his pockets again and moves on. He stops at the bakery window and looks at the pretzels and bagels displayed behind the glass.

The shop door swung open, letting out another customer, and a scent of freshly baked bread smelled out of it. The boy convulsively swallowed saliva, stomped on the spot and wandered on.

Dusk falls imperceptibly. There are fewer and fewer passers-by. The boy pauses in front of the building, in the windows of which the lights are on, and, standing on tiptoe, tries to look inside. After a moment's hesitation, he opens the door.

The old clerk was late at work today. He has nowhere to rush. For a long time he has been living alone and on holidays he feels his loneliness especially sharply. The clerk sat and thought with bitterness that he had no one to celebrate Christmas with, no one to give gifts to. At this time, the door opened. The old man looked up and saw the boy.

- Uncle, uncle, I have to write a letter! The boy said quickly.

- Do you have money? The clerk asked sternly.

The boy, fiddling with his hat, took a step back. And then the lone clerk remembered that it was Christmas Eve and that he was so anxious to give someone a present. He took out a blank sheet of paper, dipped his pen in ink and wrote: “Petersburg. 6th January. Mister ... "

- What is the name of the gentleman?

“This is not the master,” the boy muttered, not yet fully believing his luck.

- Oh, is that a lady? The clerk asked, smiling.

No no! The boy said quickly.

So who do you want to write a letter to? - the old man was surprised,

- Jesus.

- How dare you taunt an old man? - the clerk was indignant and wanted to show the boy to the door. But then I saw tears in the eyes of the child and remembered that today is Christmas Eve. He felt ashamed of his anger, and in an already warmer voice he asked:

- What do you want to write to Jesus?

- My mother always taught me to ask God for help when it is difficult. She said that God is called Jesus Christ. - The boy came closer to the clerk and continued: - And yesterday she fell asleep, and I can not wake her up. There is not even bread at home, I am so hungry, ”he wiped the tears that had come over his eyes with his palm.

- How did you wake her up? The old man asked, rising from his table.

- I kissed her.

- Does she breathe?

- What are you, uncle, do they breathe in a dream?

“Jesus Christ has already received your letter,” said the old man, hugging the boy by the shoulders. - He told me to take care of you, and took your mother to Himself.

The old clerk thought: “My mother, leaving for another world, you told me to be a kind person and a pious Christian. I forgot your order, but now you will not be ashamed of me. "

Boris Ganago

SAID WORD

On the outskirts of a big city there was an old house with a garden. They were guarded by a reliable watchman - the clever dog Uranus. He never barked at anyone in vain, watched strangers vigilantly, rejoiced at the owners.

But this house was demolished. Its inhabitants were offered a comfortable apartment, and then the question arose - what to do with the shepherd dog? As a watchman, they no longer needed Uranus, becoming only a burden. For several days there was a fierce debate about the fate of the dog. The plaintive sobbing of his grandson and the menacing shouts of his grandfather often flew through the open window from the house to the guardhouse.

What did Uranus understand from the words that came through? Who knows...

Only the daughter-in-law and grandson, who brought him food, noticed that the dog's bowl remained untouched for more than a day. Uranus did not eat in the following days, no matter how persuaded he was. He no longer wagged his tail when they approached him, and even averted his gaze to the side, as if not wanting to look at the people who betrayed him anymore.

The daughter-in-law, who was expecting an heir or heiress, suggested:

- Isn't Uranus sick? The owner threw in hearts:

- It would be better if the dog itself died. You wouldn't have had to shoot then.

The daughter-in-law shuddered.

Uranus looked at the speaker with a look that the owner could not forget for a long time.

The grandson persuaded the veterinarian's neighbor to see his pet. But the veterinarian did not find any disease, only thoughtfully said:

- Maybe he was longing for something ... Uranus soon died, until his death a little wiggling his tail only for his daughter-in-law and grandson who visited him.

And the owner at night often recalled the look of Uranus, who faithfully served him for so many years. The old man already regretted the cruel words that killed the dog.

But is it possible to return what was said?

And who knows how the voiced evil hurt the grandson, tied to his four-legged friend?

And who knows how it, scattering around the world like a radio wave, will affect the souls of unborn children, future generations?

Words live, words do not die ...

An old book said: a girl's dad died. The girl missed him. He was always kind to her. She lacked this warmth.

Once daddy dreamed of her and said: now you be affectionate with people. Every good word serves Eternity.

Boris Ganago

MASHENKA

Christmas story

Once, many years ago, the girl Masha was mistaken for an Angel. It happened like this.

One poor family had three children. Their dad died, mom worked where she could, and then she got sick. There was not a crumb left in the house, but I was so hungry. What to do?

Mom went out into the street and began to beg, but people, not noticing her, passed by. Christmas night was approaching, and the woman's words: “I don't ask myself, my children ... for Christ's sake! ”Were drowning in the pre-holiday bustle.

In despair, she entered the church and began to ask for help from Christ Himself. Who else was there to ask?

Here, at the icon of the Savior, Masha saw a woman on her knees. Her face was flooded with tears. The girl had never seen such suffering before.

Masha had an amazing heart. When they were happy next to her, and she wanted to jump with happiness. But if someone was hurt, she could not pass by and asked:

What's the matter? Why are you crying? And someone else's pain penetrated into her heart. And now she leaned towards the woman:

Are you in grief?

And when she shared her misfortune with her, Masha, who had never experienced a feeling of hunger in her life, imagined three lonely kids who had not seen food for a long time. Without hesitation, she handed the woman five rubles. It was all her money.

At that time, it was a significant amount, and the woman's face shone.

Where is your home? - Masha asked in parting. She was surprised to learn that a poor family lives in a nearby basement. The girl did not understand how it was possible to live in the basement, but she firmly knew what she needed to do on this Christmas evening.

The happy mother flew home as if on wings. She bought food from a nearby store, and the children greeted her with joy.

Soon the stove burned and the samovar began to boil. The children warmed up, had their fill and quieted down. The table, laden with food, was an unexpected holiday for them, almost a miracle.

But then Nadia, the smallest, asked:

Mom, is it true that on Christmas day God sends an Angel to the children, and he brings them many, many gifts?

Mom knew very well that they had no one to expect presents. Thank God for what He has already given them: everyone is full and warm. But babies are babies. They wanted so badly to have a Christmas tree, the same as that of all the other children. What could she, poor woman, tell them? Destroy a child's faith?

The children looked at her warily, waiting for an answer. And mom confirmed:

This is true. But the Angel comes only to those who believe in God with all their hearts and pray to Him with all their hearts.

And I believe in God with all my heart and with all my heart I pray to Him, - Nadya did not back down. - Let him send us His Angel.

Mom didn't know what to say. Silence settled in the room, only the logs crackled in the stove. And suddenly there was a knock. The children shuddered, and my mother crossed herself and opened the door with a trembling hand.

On the threshold stood a little blonde girl Masha, and behind her was a bearded man with a Christmas tree in his hands.

Merry Christmas! - Mashenka happily congratulated the owners. The children froze.

While the bearded man was setting up the tree, the nanny car entered the room with a large basket, from which gifts immediately began to appear. The kids couldn't believe their eyes. But neither they nor her mother suspected that the girl had given them her Christmas tree and her gifts.

And when the unexpected guests left, Nadia asked:

Was this girl an Angel?

Boris Ganago

BACK TO LIFE

Based on the story by A. Dobrovolsky "Seryozha"

Usually the brothers' beds were side by side. But when Seryozha fell ill with pneumonia, Sasha was moved to another room and forbidden to disturb the baby. They only asked me to pray for my little brother, who was getting worse and worse.

One evening Sasha looked into the patient's room. Seryozha was lying with his eyes open, not seeing anything, and could hardly breathe. Frightened, the boy rushed to the office, from which the voices of his parents could be heard. The door was ajar, and Sasha heard ma-ma, crying, and said that Seryozha was dying. Pa-pa answered with pain in his voice:

- Why cry now? He is no longer spas ...

In horror, Sasha rushed to his sister's room. There was no one there, and with sobbing he fell to his knees in front of the icon of the Mother of God, which hung on the wall. The words broke through the sobbing:

- Lord, Lord, make sure that Seryozha does not die!

Sasha's face was flooded with tears. Everything around was blurred as if in a fog. The boy saw in front of him only the face of the Mother of God. The sense of time has disappeared.

- Lord, you can do anything, save Seryozha!

It was already completely dark. Exhausted, Sasha got up with the corpse and lit a table lamp. The Gospel lay before her. The boy turned over several pages, and suddenly his gaze fell on the line: "Go, and how you believed, let it be for you ..."

As if having heard an order, he went to Se-ryozha. At the bedside of her beloved brother, mother sat in silence. She gave a sign: "Don't make a noise, Seryozha fell asleep."

No words were spoken, but this sign was like a ray of hope. If he fell asleep, it means he is alive, that means he will live!

Three days later, Seryozha could already sit in bed, and the children were allowed to visit him. They brought their brother's favorite toys, a fortress and houses, which he cut and glued before his illness - everything that could please the baby. A little sister with a large doll stood near Seryozha, and Sasha, exulting, photographed them.

These were moments of real happiness.

Boris Ganago

YOUR BIRTHDAY

A chick fell out of the nest - very small, helpless, even the wings have not yet grown. Can't do anything, only squeaks and opens its beak - it asks for food.

The guys took it and brought it into the house. They built a nest for him from grass and twigs. Vova fed the baby, and Ira watered and carried it out into the sun.

Soon the chick grew stronger, and instead of a gun, feathers began to grow. The guys found an old birdcage in the attic and for safety they put their pet in it - the cat began to look at him very expressively. He was on duty at the door all day, waiting for a convenient moment. And no matter how much his children chased him, he did not take his eyes off the chick.

Summer passed quickly. The chick grew up in front of the children and began to fly around the cage. And soon he felt cramped in her. When the cage was taken out into the street, he beat against the bars and asked to be released. So the guys decided to release their pet. Of course, it was a pity for them to part with him, but they could not imprison the one who was created for flight.

One sunny morning the children said goodbye to their pet, carried the cage into the yard and opened it. The chick jumped onto the grass and looked back at his friends.

At that moment, a cat appeared. Hiding in the bushes, he prepared to jump, rushed, but ... The chick flew high, high ...

The Holy Elder John of Kronstadt compared our soul to a bird. The enemy hunts for every soul, wants to catch it. After all, at first the human soul, just like a fledgling chick, is helpless, cannot fly. How can we preserve it, how to grow it so that it does not break on sharp stones, does not fall into the catcher's net?

The Lord has created a saving fence, behind which our soul grows and grows stronger - the house of God, the Holy Church. In it, the soul learns to fly high, high, to the very sky. And she knows there such a bright joy that she is not afraid of any earthly networks.

Boris Ganago

MIRROR

Dot, dot, comma,

Minus, mug curve.

Stick, stick, cucumber -

So the little man came out.

With this rhyme, Nadia finished drawing. Then, fearing that she would not be understood, she signed under it: "This is me." She carefully examined her creation and decided that he was missing something.

The young artist went to the mirror and began to examine herself: what else needs to be completed so that anyone can understand who is depicted in the portrait?

Nadia was very fond of dressing up and spinning in front of a large mirror, tried different hairstyles. This time the girl tried on her mother's hat with a veil.

She wanted to look mysterious and romantic, like long-legged girls showing fashion on TV. Nadia presented herself as an adult, threw a languid look in the mirror and tried to walk with the gait of a fashion model. It didn't turn out very nicely, and when she stopped abruptly, the hat slid down on her nose.

It's good that no one saw her at that moment. That would have laughed! In general, she did not like being a fashion model at all.

The girl took off her hat, and then her gaze fell on her grandmother's hat. Unable to resist, she tried it on. And she froze, having made an amazing discovery: she looked like two drops of water like her grandma. Only she didn't have wrinkles yet. Bye.

Now Nadia knew what she would become in many years. True, this future seemed to her very distant ...

It became clear to Nadya why grandmother loves her so much, why she watches her pranks with tender sadness and sighs furtively.

Footsteps rang out. Nadia hastily put her hat back and ran to the door. On the threshold she met ... herself, but not so playful. But the eyes were exactly the same: childishly surprised and joyful.

Nadenka hugged her future self and quietly asked:

Grandma, is it true that you were me as a child?

Grandmother was silent, then smiled mysteriously and took out an old album from the shelf. Turning a few pages, she showed a photograph of a little girl very much like Nadia.

That's what I was.

Oh, really, you look like me! - the granddaughter exclaimed in delight.

Or maybe you are like me? - Slyly, squinting, asked the grandmother.

It doesn't matter who looks like whom. The main thing is that they are similar, - the baby did not concede.

Isn't it important? Look at who I looked like ...

And the grandmother began to leaf through the album. There were so many faces there. And what kind of faces! And each was beautiful in its own way. The peace, dignity and warmth radiated by them attracted the eye. Nadya noticed that all of them - small children and gray-haired old men, young ladies and smart military men - were somewhat similar to each other ... And to her.

Tell me about them, the girl asked.

The grandmother hugged her blood to her, and a story began to flow about their family, coming from ancient times.

The time has come for cartoons, but the girl did not want to watch them. She was discovering something amazing, which was a long time ago, but living in her.

Do you know the history of your grandfathers, great-grandfathers, the history of a kind? Maybe this story is your mirror?

Boris Ganago

Parrot

Petya wandered around the house. I'm tired of all the games. Then my mother gave the order to go to the store and also suggested:

Our neighbor, Maria Nikolaevna, broke her leg. She has no one to buy bread. Barely moving around the room. Come on, I'll call and find out if she needs to buy something.

Aunt Masha was delighted with the call. And when the boy brought her a whole bag of groceries, she did not know how to thank him. For some reason I showed Petya an empty cage in which a parrot had recently lived. It was her friend. Aunt Masha looked after him, shared her thoughts, and he took it and flew away. Now she has no one to say a word, no one to care about. And what kind of life is this if there is no one to take care of?

Petya looked at the empty cage, at the crutches, imagined Aunt Mania hobbling around the empty apartment, and an unexpected thought occurred to him. The fact is that he had been saving money for a long time, which was given to him for toys. I couldn't find anything suitable. And now this strange thought - to buy a parrot for Aunt Masha.

Having said goodbye, Petya jumped out into the street. He wanted to go to a pet store, where he had once seen different parrots. But now he looked at them through the eyes of Aunt Masha. Which one could she befriend? Maybe this one will suit her, maybe this one?

Petya decided to ask his neighbor about the fugitive. The next day he told his mother:

Call your aunt Masha ... Maybe she needs something?

Mom even froze, then hugged her son to her and whispered:

So you are becoming a man ... Petya was offended:

Wasn't I a man before?

There was, of course there was, - my mother smiled. - Only now your soul has also woken up ... Thank God!

And what is the soul? - the boy was alerted.

It is the ability to love.

Mom looked at her son inquiringly:

Maybe you can call yourself?

Petya was embarrassed. Mom answered the phone: Maria Nikolaevna, excuse me, Petya has a question for you. I'll hand him over to him now.

There was nowhere to go, and Petya muttered in embarrassment:

Aunt Masha, can I buy you something?

What happened on the other end of the line, Petya did not understand, only the neighbor answered in an unusual voice. She thanked him and asked him to bring milk if he went to the store. She doesn't need anything else. Thanked again.

When Petya called her apartment, he heard a hurried knock of crutches. Aunt Masha did not want to make him wait extra seconds.

While the neighbor was looking for money, the boy, as if by chance, began to ask her about the missing parrot. Aunt Masha willingly talked about both color and behavior ...

There were several parrots of this color in the pet store. Petya took a long time to choose. When he brought his present to Aunt Masha, then ... I do not presume to describe what happened next.

Texts for reading at competitions of prose readers

Vasiliev B.L. And the dawns here are quiet. // Series “100 major books. Heirs, 2015

Swaying and stumbling, he walked across the Sinyukhin ridge towards the Germans. The revolver with the last cartridge was tightly clamped in his hand, and he only wanted now that the Germans would meet sooner and that he had time to knock down another one. Because the strength was gone. There was no strength at all - only pain. All over the body ...

White twilight drifted quietly over the heated stones. The fog was already accumulating in the lowlands, the breeze was dropping, and the mosquitoes hung like a cloud over the foreman. And he fancied in this whitish haze his girls, all five, and all the time he whispered something and sadly shook his head.

But there were still no Germans. They did not come across to him, did not shoot, although he walked heavily and openly and was looking for this meeting. It was time to end this war, it was time to put a point, and this last point was stored in the blue channel of the barrel of his revolver.

He had no goal now, only a desire. He did not circle, he did not look for traces, but walked straight, as if he were on the run. But there were still no Germans and there weren't any ...

He had already passed the pine forest and was now walking through the forest, every minute approaching the skete of Legont, where in the morning he had so easily obtained a weapon for himself. He did not think why he was going there, but the unerring instinct of hunting led him this way, and he obeyed him. And, obeying him, suddenly slowed down his steps, listened and slipped into the bushes.

A hundred meters away, a clearing began with a rotten frame of a well and a warped hut that had driven into the ground. And this hundred meters Vaskov walked silently and weightlessly. He knew that there was an enemy, he knew exactly and inexplicably how the wolf knew where the hare would jump out of him.

In the bushes by the clearing, he froze and stood for a long time, without moving, his eyes ransacking the blockhouse, near which the German killed by him was no longer, a lopsided skete, dark bushes in the corners. There was nothing special, nothing was noticed, but the foreman continued to wait patiently. And when from the corner of the hut a little blurry spot floated, he was not surprised. He already knew that it was there that the sentry was standing.

He walked to him for a long, infinitely long time. Slowly, as in a dream, he raised his leg, lowered it weightlessly to the ground and did not step over - he poured the weight drop by drop so that not a single branch would crack. In this strange bird dance, he walked around the clearing and found himself behind the motionless sentry. And even more slowly, even more smoothly, he moved towards that broad, dark back. I didn't go - I swam.

And in a step he stopped. He held his breath for a long time and now waited for his heart to calm down. He had long ago thrust a revolver into his holster, held a knife in his right hand, and now, feeling the heavy smell of someone else's body, slowly, millimeter-by-millimeter, brought in the fin for a single, decisive blow.

And I was still saving up my strength. There were few of them. Very little, and the left hand could no longer help.

He put everything into this blow, everything, to the last drop. The German almost did not scream, only a strange, viscous sigh and dropped to his knees. The foreman tore open the slanting door, jumped into the hut.

- Hyundai hoh! ..

And they were asleep. We slept before the last throw to the piece of iron. Only one did not sleep: he darted into the corner, to the weapon, but Vaskov caught this gallop and almost point-blank stuck a bullet into the German. The crash hit the low ceiling, the Fritz was thrown into the wall, and the foreman suddenly forgot everything. German words and only shouted hoarsely:

- Lie! .. Lie! .. Lie! ..

And swore in black words. The blackest I knew.

No, it was not the scream that they were frightened of, not the grenade that the foreman waved. They could not just think, in their thoughts even imagine that he was alone, for many miles, alone. This concept did not fit into their fascist brains, and therefore lay on the floor: face down, as ordered. All four went to bed: the fifth, the quickest, was already listed in the next world.

And they tied each other with belts, tied them neatly, and Fedot Evgrafych personally tied the last one. And he began to cry. Tears streamed down his dirty, unshaven face, he was shaking in a chill, and laughed through these tears, and shouted:

- What, they got it? .. They took it, right? .. Five girls, five girls in total, only five! But you didn’t pass, you didn’t go anywhere, and you will die here, everyone will die! .. I will kill everyone personally, personally, even if the authorities have mercy! And then let them judge me! Let them judge! ..

And his hand ached, ached so much that everything in him burned and his thoughts were confused. And that is why he was especially afraid of losing consciousness and clung to it, from the last strength he clung to ...

... He could never remember that last path. German backs swayed ahead, dangled from side to side, because Vaskov was shaking, as if into a drunken board. And he saw nothing, except for these four backs, and only thought about one thing: to have time to press the trigger of the automatic machine before losing consciousness. And it hung on the last cobweb, and the pain burned so throughout his whole body that he growled from that pain. He growled and cried: he was exhausted, apparently completely ...

But only then did he allow his consciousness to break off when they called out to them and when he realized that they were coming towards them. Russians ...

V.P. Kataev. Son of the regiment // School library, Moscow, Children's literature, 1977

The scouts moved slowly towards their position.

Suddenly the elder stopped and raised his hand. At the same moment, the others also stopped, not taking their eyes off their commander. The elder stood for a long time, throwing back the hood from his head and slightly turning his ear in the direction from which he fancied a suspicious rustle. The oldest was a young man of about twenty-two. Despite his youth, he was already considered a seasoned soldier on the battery. He was a sergeant. His comrades loved him and at the same time were afraid of him.

The sound that caught the attention of Sergeant Yegorov — that was the elder’s surname — seemed very strange. Despite all his experience, Yegorov could not understand his character and meaning in any way.

"What could it be?" - thought Yegorov, straining his ear and quickly going over in his mind all the suspicious sounds that he had ever heard in the night reconnaissance.

"Whisper! No. Careful rustle of a shovel? No. File whine? No".

A strange, quiet, intermittent sound was heard somewhere very close, to the right, behind a juniper bush. It looked like the sound was coming out of the ground somewhere.

After listening for another minute or two, Yegorov, without turning around, gave a sign, and both scouts slowly and silently, like shadows, approached him closely. He indicated with his hand the direction from which the sound came, and signaled to listen. The scouts began to listen.

- Hear? Egorov asked with his lips alone.

“Hear,” one of the soldiers replied just as soundlessly.

Egorov turned to his comrades a thin, dark face, sadly illuminated by the moon. He raised his boyish eyebrows high.

- Don't understand.

For some time the three of them stood and listened, putting their fingers on the triggers of the machine guns. The sounds continued and were just as incomprehensible. For an instant, they suddenly changed their character. It seemed to all three that they heard singing coming out of the earth. They looked at each other. But immediately the sounds became the same.

Then Egorov signaled to lie down and lay down on his stomach on the leaves, which had already turned gray from frost. He took a dagger in his mouth and crawled, silently pulling himself up on his elbows, on his bellies.

A minute later he disappeared behind a dark juniper bush, and after another minute, which seemed long, like an hour, the scouts heard a thin whistle. It meant that Egorov was calling them to him. They crawled and soon saw the sergeant, who was kneeling, peering into a small trench hidden among the junipers.

From the trench one could clearly hear muttering, sobbing, sleepy moans. Without words, understanding each other, the scouts surrounded the trench and stretched out the ends of their cloak-tents with their hands so that they formed something like a tent that did not let in the light. Egorov lowered his hand with an electric flashlight into the trench.

The picture they saw was simple and at the same time terrible.

A boy was sleeping in the trench.

Clasping his hands on his chest, tucking his bare feet, dark as potatoes, the boy lay in a green stinking puddle and raved heavily in his sleep. His bare head, overgrown with dirty hair that had not been cut for a long time, was thrown back awkwardly. The thin throat quivered. Husky sighs escaped from the collapsed mouth with fever swept, sore lips. There was muttering, snatches of unintelligible words, sobbing. The bulging eyelids of the closed eyes were of an unhealthy, anemic color. They seemed almost blue, like skim milk. Short but thick eyelashes are stuck together like arrows. The face was covered with scratches and bruises. On the bridge of his nose was a clot of caked blood.

The boy was asleep, and the reflections of the nightmares that haunted the boy in his sleep ran convulsively across his tortured face. Every minute his face changed expression. Then it froze in horror; that inhuman despair distorted him; then sharp, deep lines of hopeless grief cut through around his sunken mouth, eyebrows raised like a house and tears rolled from eyelashes; then suddenly the teeth began to creak violently, the face became angry, merciless, the fists clenched with such force that the nails dug into the palms, and dull, hoarse sounds flew out of the strained throat. And then suddenly the boy fell into unconsciousness, smiled a pitiful, completely childish and childishly helpless smile and began very weakly, barely audibly to sing some unintelligible song.

The boy's dream was so heavy, so deep, his soul, wandering through the torment of dreams, was so far from the body that for some time he did not feel anything: neither the intent eyes of the scouts looking at him from above, nor the bright light of an electric flashlight, which illuminated his face.

But suddenly the boy seemed to be hit from the inside, thrown up. He woke up, jumped up, sat down. His eyes flashed wildly. In an instant, he pulled out a large sharpened nail from somewhere. With a dexterous, precise movement, Yegorov managed to intercept the boy's hot hand and close his mouth with his palm.

- Quiet. Ours, - said Egorov in a whisper.

Only now the boy noticed that the soldiers' helmets were Russian, the machine guns were Russian, the raincoat-tents were Russian, and the faces bent over him were also Russian, relatives.

A joyous smile flashed pale on his emaciated face. He wanted to say something, but managed to utter only one word:

And he passed out.

M. Prishvin. Blue dragonfly. // Sat. Prishvin M.M. "Green noise", series: My notebooks. M., Pravda, 1983

That first world war In 1914, as a war correspondent, I went to the front in the uniform of a medical orderly and soon found myself in a battle in the west in the Augustow woods. I wrote down my in a short way all my impressions, but, I confess, the feeling of personal uselessness and the impossibility of catching up with the terrible thing that was happening around me did not leave me for a single minute.

I walked along the road towards the war and played with death: now a shell fell, exploding a deep funnel, then a bullet buzzed like a bee, but I kept walking, curiously looking at flocks of partridges flying from battery to battery.

I looked and saw the head of Maksim Maksimych: his bronze face with a gray mustache was stern and almost solemn. At the same time, the old captain was able to express sympathy and protection to me. A minute later I was eating cabbage soup in his dugout. Soon, when the case flared up, he shouted to me:

- But how can you, a writer, you are so loose, not ashamed to be engaged in your trifles at such moments?

- What should I do? I asked, very pleased with his decisive tone.

- Run immediately, lift those people over there, order the benches from the school to drag, pick up and lay the wounded.

I lifted people, dragged benches, laid the wounded, forgot a writer in myself, and suddenly I finally felt like a real person, and I was so happy that I was not only a writer here in the war.

At this time, one dying man whispered to me:

- That would be some water.

At the first word of the wounded, I ran to fetch water.

But he did not drink and kept repeating to me:

- Voditsa, voditsa, streams.

I looked at him in amazement, and suddenly I understood everything: he was almost a boy with shining eyes, with thin quivering lips that reflected the trembling of the soul.

The orderly and I took a stretcher and carried him to the bank of the stream. The orderly retired, and I was left alone with the dying boy on the bank of a forest stream.

In the slanting rays of the evening sun, the minarets of horsetails, leaves of telores, water lilies shone with a special green light, as if emanating from inside the plants, circled over the creek blue dragonfly... And very close to us, where the creek ended, the trickles of the stream, joining on the pebbles, sang their usual beautiful song. The wounded man listened with his eyes closed, his bloodless lips moving convulsively, expressing a violent struggle. And so the struggle ended with a sweet childish smile, and his eyes opened.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

Seeing a blue dragonfly flying by the backwater, he smiled again, said thanks again and closed his eyes again.

Some time passed in silence, when suddenly the lips moved again, a new struggle arose, and I heard:

- And what, she still flies?

The blue dragonfly was still spinning.

- It flies, - I answered, - and how!

He smiled again and fell into oblivion.

Meanwhile, little by little it got dark, and I, too, with my thoughts flew far away, and forgot myself. Suddenly I hear him ask:

- Still flying?

“It flies,” I said, without looking, without thinking.

- Why can't I see? He asked, opening his eyes with difficulty.

I was scared. It happened to me once to see a dying man who suddenly lost his sight before his death, but he still spoke to us quite reasonably. Is it not so here: his eyes died earlier. But I myself looked at the place where the dragonfly flew and saw nothing.

The patient realized that I had deceived him, was upset by my inattention and silently closed his eyes.

It hurt, and suddenly I saw the reflection of a flying dragonfly in the clear water. We could not notice it against the background of the darkening forest, but the water - these eyes of the earth remain light when it gets dark: these eyes seem to see in the darkness.

- Flies, flies! - I exclaimed so resolutely, so joyfully that the patient immediately opened his eyes.

And I showed him a reflection. And he smiled.

I will not describe how we saved this wounded man - apparently, doctors saved him. But I firmly believe: they, doctors, were helped by the song of the brook and my decisive and agitated words that the blue dragonfly flew over the creek in the dark.

A. Platonov. Unknown flower.

And one day one seed fell out of the wind, and it nestled in a hole between the stone and the clay. This seed languished for a long time, and then it was saturated with dew, disintegrated, released the thin hairs of the root, stuck them into the stone and clay and began to grow. So that little flower began to live in the world. He had nothing to eat in stone and clay; drops of rain that fell from the sky descended along the top of the earth and did not penetrate to its root, but the flower kept living and living and growing little by little higher. He raised the leaves against the wind, and the wind died down near the flower; specks of dust fell from the wind onto the clay, which the wind brought from the black fat earth; and in those dust particles there was food for the flower, but the dust particles were dry. To moisten them, the flower guarded the dew all night and collected it drop by drop on its leaves. And when the leaves were heavy with dew, the flower lowered them, and the dew fell down; it moistened the black dust particles that the wind brought, and ate away the dead clay. During the day, the flower was guarded by the wind, and at night, the dew. He worked day and night to live and not die. He grew his leaves large so that they could stop the wind and collect dew. However, it was difficult for a flower to eat from some dust particles that fell out of the wind, and still collect dew for them. But he needed life and with patience overcame his pain from hunger and fatigue. Only once a day did the flower rejoice: when the first ray of the morning sun touched its weary leaves. If the wind did not come to the wasteland for a long time, then the little flower became bad, and it no longer had enough strength to live and grow. The flower, however, did not want to live sadly; therefore, when he was very sad, he dozed off. Yet he constantly tried to grow, even if bare stone and dry clay gnawed at his roots. At such a time, its leaves could not be saturated with full strength and turn green: one vein they had blue, the other red, the third blue or gold. This happened because the flower lacked food, and its torment was indicated in the leaves different colors... The flower itself, however, did not know this: after all, he was blind and did not see himself as he was. In the middle of summer, the flower spreads its corolla at the top. Before that, he looked like grass, and now he has become a real flower. His corolla was composed of petals of a simple light color, clear and strong, like a star. And, like a star, he shone with a living flickering fire, and he could be seen even on a dark night. And when the wind came to the wasteland, it always touched the flower and carried its scent away with it. And then one morning the girl Dasha walked past that wasteland. She lived with her friends in a pioneer camp, and this morning she woke up and missed her mother. She wrote a letter to her mother and took the letter to the station so that it would arrive as soon as possible. On the way, Dasha kissed the envelope with the letter and envied him that he would see her mother sooner than she did. At the edge of the wasteland, Dasha felt a fragrance. She looked around. There were no flowers nearby, only small grass grew along the path, and the wasteland was completely bare; but the wind came from the wasteland and brought from there a quiet smell, like the calling voice of a small unknown life. Dasha remembered a fairy tale that her mother had told her for a long time. The mother spoke of the flower, which was still sad for its mother - the rose, but he could not cry, and only in the fragrance did his sadness pass. “Maybe this flower misses its mother there, as I do,” thought Dasha. She went to the wasteland and saw that little flower near the stone. Dasha has never seen such a flower - not in a field, not in a forest, not in a book in a picture, not in a botanical garden, anywhere. She sat down on the ground near the flower and asked him: - Why are you like this? “I don’t know,” the flower replied. - Why are you different from others? The flower again did not know what to say. But for the first time he heard the voice of a man so close, for the first time someone looked at him, and he did not want to offend Dasha with silence. “Because it’s difficult for me,” the flower replied. - What is your name? - Dasha asked. - Nobody calls me, - said the little flower, - I live alone. Dasha looked around in the wasteland. - Here is a stone, here is clay! - she said. - How do you live alone, how did you grow out of clay and did not die, little like that? “I don’t know,” the flower replied. Dasha bent down to him and kissed him on the luminous head. The next day, all the pioneers came to visit the little flower. Dasha brought them, but long before reaching the wasteland, she ordered everyone to breathe and said: - Hear how good it smells. This is how he breathes.

The pioneers stood around the little flower for a long time and admired it like a hero. Then they walked around the entire wasteland, measured it with their steps and counted how many wheelbarrows with manure and ash need to be brought to fertilize the dead clay. They wanted the land to become good in the wasteland. Then the small flower, unknown by name, will rest, and from its seeds beautiful children will grow and not die, the best flowers shining with light, which are nowhere to be found. The pioneers worked for four days, fertilizing the land in the wasteland. And after that they went to travel to other fields and forests and never came back to the wasteland. Only Dasha came once to say goodbye to a small flower. Summer was already over, the pioneers had to go home, and they left. And the next summer, Dasha again came to the same pioneer camp. Throughout the long winter she remembered a small flower, unknown by name. And she immediately went to the wasteland to visit him. Dasha saw that the wasteland was now different, it was now overgrown with herbs and flowers, and birds and butterflies were flying over it. The flowers gave off a fragrance, the same as from that little worker flower. However, the last year's flower that lived between the stone and the clay was gone. He must have died last fall. The new flowers were nice too; they were only slightly worse than that first flower. And Dasha felt sad that there was no previous flower. She walked back and suddenly stopped. Between two close stones a new flower grew - the same exactly as that old color, only a little better than it and even more beautiful. This flower grew from the middle of the embarrassed stones; he was alive and patient, like his father, and more stronger than father because he lived in stone. It seemed to Dasha that the flower was reaching out to her, that he was calling her to him in the silent voice of his fragrance.

G. Andersen. Nightingale.

And suddenly a wonderful singing was heard outside the window. It was a small living nightingale. He learned that the emperor was ill and flew in to comfort and encourage him. He sat on a branch and sang, and the terrible ghosts that surrounded the emperor all turned pale and pale, and the blood rushed faster and hotter to the heart of the emperor.

Death itself heard the nightingale and only quietly repeated:

Sing, nightingale! Sing some more!

Will you give me a precious saber for this? And the banner? And the crown? the nightingale asked.

Death nodded its head and gave away one treasure after another, and the nightingale sang and sang. So he sang a song about a quiet cemetery, where the elderberry blossoms, white roses smell sweet and the tears of the living, mourning their loved ones, glisten in the fresh grass on the graves. Then Death wanted so much to return to his home, to the quiet cemetery, that she wrapped herself in a cold white fog and flew out the window.

Thank you, dear bird! - said the emperor. - How can I reward you?

You have already rewarded me, said the nightingale. - I saw tears in your eyes when I sang in front of you for the first time - I will never forget this. Sincere tears of delight are the most precious reward for a singer!

And he sang again, and the emperor fell asleep in a healthy, sound sleep.

And when he woke up, the sun was already shining brightly through the window. None of the courtiers and servants even looked at the emperor. Everyone thought he was dead. One nightingale did not leave the patient. He sat outside the window and sang even better than ever.

Stay with me! - asked the emperor. - You will sing only when you want to.

I cannot live in a palace. I will fly to you whenever I want, and I will sing about the happy and the unfortunate, about good and evil, about everything that is happening around you and what you do not know. A little songbird flies everywhere - it flies under the roof of a poor peasant hut, and into a fishing house, which are so far from your palace. I will fly over and sing to you! But promise me ...

All you want! - exclaimed the emperor and got out of bed.

He had already managed to put on his imperial robe and clutched a heavy golden saber to his heart.

Promise me not to tell anyone that you have a little bird that tells you about the whole big world. It’s better that way.

And the nightingale flew away.

Then the courtiers entered, they gathered to look at the deceased emperor, and so they froze on the threshold.

And the emperor said to them:

Hello! WITH Good morning!

A sunny day at the very beginning of summer. I wander not far from home, in a birch forest. Everything around seems to be swimming, splashing in golden waves of warmth and light. Branches of birches flow above me. The leaves on them seem to be emerald green, then completely golden. And below, under the birches, light bluish shadows are running and streaming across the grass like waves. And bright bunnies, like reflections of the sun in the water, run one after another on the grass, along the path.

The sun is in the sky and on the ground ... And this makes it so good, so fun that you want to run away somewhere into the distance, to where the trunks of young birches sparkle with their dazzling whiteness.

And suddenly from this sunny distance I heard a familiar forest voice: "Ku-ku, ku-ku!"

Cuckoo! I’ve heard it many times before, but I’ve never seen it even in a picture. What is she like? For some reason, she seemed to me plump, big-headed, like an owl. But maybe she's not like that at all? I'll run - I'll have a look.

Alas, it turned out to be not at all easy. I - to her voice. And she will be silent, and then again: "Ku-ku, ku-ku", but in a completely different place.

How can you see her? I stopped thinking. Or maybe she's playing hide and seek with me? She is hiding, and I am looking. But let's play the other way around: now I'll hide, and you look.

I climbed into a hazel bush and also cuckoo once, twice. The cuckoo is silent, maybe it is looking for me? I sit in silence and I myself, even my heart is pounding with excitement. And suddenly, somewhere nearby: "Ku-ku, ku-ku!"

I am silent: look better, do not shout to the whole forest.

And she is already very close: "Ku-ku, ku-ku!"

I look: a bird is flying through the clearing, its tail is long, it is gray itself, only the breast is in dark speckles. Probably a hawk. Such in our yard hunts for sparrows. He flew up to a nearby tree, sat down on a twig, bent down and shouted: "Ku-ku, ku-ku!"

Cuckoo! Just like that! It means that it is not like an owl, but like a hawk.

I’ll like to cuck her out of the bush in response! With fright, she almost fell off the tree, immediately darted down from the knot, darted somewhere into the forest thicket, only I saw her.

But I don't need to see her again. So I solved the forest riddle, and besides, I myself spoke to the bird for the first time on its native language.

So the ringing forest voice of the cuckoo revealed to me the first secret of the forest. And since then, for half a century now, I wander in winter and summer along the deaf, untrodden paths and discover more and more secrets. And there is no end to these winding paths, and there is no end to the secrets of native nature.

G. Skrebitsky. Four artists

Somehow four magicians-painters got together: Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn; agreed and argued: which of them draws better? They argued, argued and decided to choose the Red Sun as a judge: "It lives high in the sky, has seen many miraculous things in its life, let it judge us."

Sunny agreed to be the judge. The painters got down to business. The first to volunteer to paint a picture Zimushka-Winter.

"Only Sunny shouldn't be looking at my work," she decided. "She shouldn't see her until I'm finished."

Winter stretched gray clouds across the sky and well, let's cover the ground with fresh fluffy snow! One day I painted everything around.

The fields and hills have turned white. Thin ice the river was covered, became quiet, fell asleep, as in a fairy tale.

Winter walks in the mountains, in the valleys, walks in large soft felt boots, steps quietly, inaudibly. And she looks around - here and there her own magic picture will fix.

Here is a hillock in the middle of the field, from which the prankster took the wind and blew off his white cap. You need to put it on again. And there is a gray hare sneaking among the bushes. It's bad for him, the gray one: on the white snow, a predatory animal or bird will immediately notice him, you can't hide from them anywhere.

"Dress yourself, scythe, in a white fur coat," Winter decided, "then you won't soon notice you in the snow."

And Lisa Patrikeevna has no need to dress in white. She lives in a deep hole, hides under the ground from enemies. She only needs to be more beautiful and warmer.

Winter had in store for her a wonderful fur coat, just for a miracle: all bright red, like a fire burns! The fox will move its fluffy tail, as if it will scatter sparks over the snow.

Winter looked into the forest. “I’ll paint it so that the Sun will admire it!”

She dressed the pines and ate them in heavy snow coats; she pulled snow-white hats down to their eyebrows; I put down mittens on the branches. Forest heroes are standing next to each other, standing decorously, calmly.

And below, under them, various bushes and young trees took refuge. Winter also dressed them, like children, in white fur coats.

And on the mountain ash that grows at the very edge, she threw a white blanket. It turned out so well! At the ends of the branches near the mountain ash, clusters of berries hang, as if red earrings are visible from under a white blanket.

Under the trees, Winter painted all the snow with a pattern of various footprints and footprints. There is also a hare track: in front, two large paw prints are next to each other, and behind - one after the other - two small ones; and the fox - as if brought out along a thread: foot in foot, so it stretches in a chain; and the gray wolf ran through the forest, also left its prints. But the bear's footprint is nowhere to be seen, and it is not surprising: Zimushka-Zima arranged for Toptygin in the thicket of the forest a cozy den, she covered the bear with a thick snow blanket from above: sleep on your health! And he is glad to try - he does not get out of the den. Therefore, there is no bear footprint in the forest.

But not only traces of animals can be seen in the snow. In a forest clearing, where green bushes of lingonberries, blueberries stick out, snow, as if with crosses, is trampled by bird tracks. These are forest chickens - hazel grouse and black grouse - ran here in the clearing, pecking at the surviving berries.

Yes, here they are: black grouse, variegated hazel grouses and grouses. On the white snow, how beautiful they are!

The picture of a winter forest turned out to be good, not dead, but alive! Either a gray squirrel jumps from one knot to another, or a spotted woodpecker, sitting on the trunk of an old tree, will begin to knock out seeds from a pine cone. He will thrust it into the crevice and pound on it with his beak!

The winter forest lives. Snow-covered fields and valleys live. The whole picture of the gray-haired sorceress - Winter lives. You can show her and the Sun.

The sun parted the gray cloud. He looks at the winter forest, at the valleys ... And under his gentle gaze, everything around becomes even more beautiful.

Snow flashed, lit up. Blue, red, green lights lit up on the ground, on bushes, on trees. And a breeze blew, shook off the frost from the branches, and in the air, too, sparkled, danced colorful lights.

Wonderful picture turned out! Perhaps you can't draw better.