ar, musical voice of the Little
Russian sounded in the room:

"Pavel, do you hear? They're calling."

The mother heard the patter of bare feet on the floor and some one yawn
with gusto.

"The samovar is ready," she cried.

"We're getting up," Pavel answered merrily.

"The sun is rising," said the Little Russian. "The clouds are racing;
they're out of place to-day." He went into the kitchen all disheveled
but jolly after his sleep. "Good morning, mother dear; how did you
sleep?"

The mother went to him and whispered:

"Andriusha, keep close to him."

"Certainly. As long as it depends on us, we'll always stick to each
other, you may be sure."

"What's that whispering about?" Pavel asked.

"Nothing. She told me to wash myself better, so the girls will look at
me," replied the Little Russian, going out on the porch to wash himself.

"'Rise up, awake, you workingmen,'" Pavel sang softly.

As the day grew, the clouds dispersed, chased by the wind. The mother
got the dishes ready for the tea, shaking her head over the thought of
how strange it was for both of them to be joking and smiling all the
time on this morning, when who knew what would befall them in the
afternoon. Yet, curiously enough, she felt herself calm, almost happy.

They sat a long time over the tea to while away the hours of
expectation. Pavel, as was his wont, slowly and scrupulously mixed the
sugar in the glass with his spoon, and accurately salted his favorite
crust from the end of the loaf. The Little Russian moved his feet
under the table--he never could at once settle his feet
comfortably--and looked at the rays of sunlight playing on the wall and
ceiling.

"When I was a youngster of ten years," he recounted, "I wanted to catch
the sun in a glass. So I took the glass, stole to the wall, and bang!
I cut my hand and got a licking to boot. After the licking I went out
in the yard and saw the sun in a puddle. So I started to trample the
mud with my feet. I covered myself with mud, and got another drubbing.
What was I to do? I screamed to the sun: 'It doesn't hurt me, you red
devil; it doesn't hurt me!' and stuck out my tongue at him. And I felt
comforted."

"Why did the sun seem red to you?" Pavel asked, laughing.

"There was a blacksmith opposite our house, with fine red cheeks, and a
huge red beard. I thought the sun resembled him."

The mother lost patience and said:

"You'd better talk about your arrangements for