o
was his father and who was crying remained in Yura's memory as something
dreadful and extremely serious. And, if there were things of which he
did not feel like speaking, it was absolutely necessary to say nothing
of this, as though it were something sacred and terrible, and in that
silence he must love father all the more. But he must love so that
father should not notice it, and he must give the impression that it is
very jolly to live on earth.

And Yura succeeded in accomplishing all this. Father did not notice that
he loved him in a special manner; and it was really jolly to live on
earth, so there was no need for him to make believe. The threads of his
soul stretched themselves to all--to the sun, to the knife and the cane
he was peeling; to the beautiful and enigmatic distance which he saw
from the top of the iron roof; and it was hard for him to separate
himself from all that was not himself. When the grass had a strong and
fragrant odour it seemed to him that it was he who had such a fragrant
odour, and when he lay down in his bed, however strange it may seem,
together with him in his little bed lay down the enormous yard, the
street, the slant threads of the rain and the muddy pools and the whole,
enormous, live, fascinating, mysterious world. Thus all fell asleep
with him and thus all awakened with him, and together with him they
all opened their eyes. And there was one striking fact, worthy of the
profoundest reflection--if he placed a stick somewhere in the garden
in the evening it was there also in the morning; and the knuckle-bones
which he hid in a box in the barn remained there, although it was dark
and he went to his room for the night. Because of this he felt a natural
need for hiding under his pillow all that was most valuable to him.
Since things stood or lay there alone, they might also disappear of
their accord, he reasoned. And in general it was so wonderful and
pleasant that the nurse and the house and the sun existed not only
yesterday, but every day; he felt like laughing and singing aloud when
he awoke.

When people asked him what his name was he answered promptly:

"Yura."

But some people were not satisfied with this alone, and they wanted to
know his full name--and then he replied with a certain effort:

"Yura Mikhailovich."

And after a moment's thought he added:

"Yura Mikhailovich Pushkarev."

CHAPTER II

An unusual day arrived. It was mother's birthday. Guests were