s mouth open. The staircase, the
floors, and the doorposts--everything huge, straight, and bright-were
painted a splendid yellow colour, and had a delicious smell of
Lenten oil. On all sides lamps were hanging, strips of carpet
stretched along the floor, copper taps stuck out on the walls. But
best of all Pashka liked the bedstead upon which he was made to sit
down, and the grey woollen coverlet. He touched the pillows and the
coverlet with his hands, looked round the ward, and made up his
mind that it was very nice at the doctor's.

The ward was not a large one, it consisted of only three beds. One
bed stood empty, the second was occupied by Pashka, and on the third
sat an old man with sour eyes, who kept coughing and spitting into
a mug. From Pashka's bed part of another ward could be seen with
two beds; on one a very pale wasted-looking man with an india-rubber
bottle on his head was asleep; on the other a peasant with his head
tied up, looking very like a woman, was sitting with his arms spread
out.

After making Pashka sit down, the assistant went out and came back
a little later with a bundle of clothes under her arm.

"These are for you," she said, "put them on."

Pashka undressed and, not without satisfaction began attiring himself
in his new array. When he had put on the shirt, the drawers, and
the little grey dressing-gown, he looked at himself complacently,
and thought that it would not be bad to walk through the village
in that costume. His imagination pictured his mother's sending him
to the kitchen garden by the river to gather cabbage leaves for the
little pig; he saw himself walking along, while the boys and girls
surrounded him and looked with envy at his little dressing-gown.

A nurse came into the ward, bringing two tin bowls, two spoons, and
two pieces of bread. One bowl she set before the old man, the other
before Pashka.

"Eat!" she said.

Looking into his bowl, Pashka saw some rich cabbage soup, and in
the soup a piece of meat, and thought again that it was very nice
at the doctor's, and that the doctor was not nearly so cross as he
had seemed at first. He spent a long time swallowing the soup,
licking the spoon after each mouthful, then when there was nothing
left in the bowl but the meat he stole a look at the old man, and
felt envious that he was still eating the soup. With a sigh Pashka
attacked the meat, trying to make it last as long as possible, but
his efforts were fruitless; the