sense of his own dignity. He takes not the slightest notice of the
children, and when he passes them hits them with his tail as though
they were chairs. The children hate him from the bottom of their
hearts, but on this occasion, practical considerations override
sentiment.

"I say, Nina," says Vanya, opening his eyes wide. "Let Nero be their
father, instead of the horse! The horse is dead and he is alive,
you see."

They are waiting the whole evening for the moment when papa will
sit down to his cards and it will be possible to take Nero to the
kitchen without being observed. . . . At last, papa sits down to
cards, mamma is busy with the samovar and not noticing the
children. . . .

The happy moment arrives.

"Come along!" Vanya whispers to his sister.

But, at that moment, Stepan comes in and, with a snigger, announces:

"Nero has eaten the kittens, madam."

Nina and Vanya turn pale and look at Stepan with horror.

"He really has . . ." laughs the footman, "he went to the box and
gobbled them up."

The children expect that all the people in the house will be aghast
and fall upon the miscreant Nero. But they all sit calmly in their
seats, and only express surprise at the appetite of the huge dog.
Papa and mamma laugh. Nero walks about by the table, wags his tail,
and licks his lips complacently . . . the cat is the only one who
is uneasy. With her tail in the air she walks about the rooms,
looking suspiciously at people and mewing plaintively.

"Children, it's past nine," cries mamma, "it's bedtime."

Vanya and Nina go to bed, shed tears, and spend a long time thinking
about the injured cat, and the cruel, insolent, and unpunished Nero.

A DAY IN THE COUNTRY

BETWEEN eight and nine o'clock in the morning.

A dark leaden-coloured mass is creeping over the sky towards the
sun. Red zigzags of lightning gleam here and there across it. There
is a sound of far-away rumbling. A warm wind frolics over the grass,
bends the trees, and stirs up the dust. In a minute there will be
a spurt of May rain and a real storm will begin.

Fyokla, a little beggar-girl of six, is running through the village,
looking for Terenty the cobbler. The white-haired, barefoot child
is pale. Her eyes are wide-open, her lips are trembling.

"Uncle, where is Terenty?" she asks every one she meets. No one
answers. They are all preoccupied with the approaching storm and
take refuge in their huts. At last she meets Silanty Silitch,