ed his destination when he
suddenly heard a rustle, and thereupon caught sight of a mouse which
ran from a water-trough towards a stable; my hero's hair stood on
end, he arched his back, hissed, and trembling all over, took to
ignominious flight.

Alas! sometimes I feel myself in the ludicrous position of the
flying cat. Like the kitten, I had in my day the honour of being
taught Latin by my uncle. Now, whenever I chance to see some work
of classical antiquity, instead of being moved to eager enthusiasm,
I begin recalling, _ut consecutivum_, the irregular verbs, the
sallow grey face of my uncle, the ablative absolute. . . . I turn
pale, my hair stands up on my head, and, like the cat, I take to
ignominious flight.

THE BIRD MARKET

THERE is a small square near the monastery of the Holy Birth which
is called Trubnoy, or simply Truboy; there is a market there on
Sundays. Hundreds of sheepskins, wadded coats, fur caps, and
chimneypot hats swarm there, like crabs in a sieve. There is the
sound of the twitter of birds in all sorts of keys, recalling the
spring. If the sun is shining, and there are no clouds in the sky,
the singing of the birds and the smell of hay make a more vivid
impression, and this reminder of spring sets one thinking and carries
one's fancy far, far away. Along one side of the square there stands
a string of waggons. The waggons are loaded, not with hay, not with
cabbages, nor with beans, but with goldfinches, siskins, larks,
blackbirds and thrushes, bluetits, bullfinches. All of them are
hopping about in rough, home-made cages, twittering and looking
with envy at the free sparrows. The goldfinches cost five kopecks,
the siskins are rather more expensive, while the value of the other
birds is quite indeterminate.

"How much is a lark?"

The seller himself does not know the value of a lark. He scratches
his head and asks whatever comes into it, a rouble, or three kopecks,
according to the purchaser. There are expensive birds too. A faded
old blackbird, with most of its feathers plucked out of its tail,
sits on a dirty perch. He is dignified, grave, and motionless as a
retired general. He has waved his claw in resignation to his captivity
long ago, and looks at the blue sky with indifference. Probably,
owing to this indifference, he is considered a sagacious bird. He
is not to be bought for less than forty kopecks. Schoolboys, workmen,
young men in stylish greatcoats, and bird-fanciers in incred