however much I swallow, it's not enough, I should like to
take in all the air there is. Then, perhaps, I should cough less, and
grow a little stronger.

We throw off the old uniforms, and remain in our shirts, we run and leap
and go through all sorts of performances with our hands and feet, and
it's splendid! At home I never had so much as an idea of such fun.

At first I was very much afraid of jumping across the ditch, but I
resolved once and for all--I've _got_ to jump it. If the worst comes to
the worst, I shall fall and bruise myself. Suppose I do? What then? Why
do all the others jump it and don't care? One needn't be so very strong
to jump!

And one day, before the gymnastics had begun, I left my comrades, took
heart and a long run, and when I came to the ditch, I made a great
bound, and, lo and behold, I was over on the other side! I couldn't
believe my own eyes that I had done it so easily.

Ever since then I have jumped across ditches, and over mounds, and down
from mounds, as well as any of them.

Only when it comes to climbing a ladder or swinging myself over a high
bar, I know it spells misfortune for me.

I spring forward, and seize the first rung with my right hand, but I
cannot reach the second with my left.

I stretch myself, and kick out with my feet, but I cannot reach any
higher, not by so much as a vershok, and so there I hang and kick with
my feet, till my right arm begins to tremble and hurt me. My head goes
round, and I fall onto the grass. The corporal abuses me as usual, and
the soldiers laugh.

I would give ten years of my life to be able to get higher, if only
three or four rungs, but what can I do, if my arms won't serve me?

Sometimes I go out to the ladder by myself, while the soldiers are still
asleep, and stand and look at it: perhaps I can think of a way to
manage? But in vain. Thinking, you see, doesn't help you in these cases.

Sometimes they tell one of the soldiers to stand in the middle of the
yard with his back to us, and we have to hop over him. He bends down a
little, lowers his head, rests his hands on his knees, and we hop over
him one at a time. One takes a good run, and when one comes to him, one
places both hands on his shoulders, raises oneself into the air,
and--over!

I know exactly how it ought to be done; I take the run all right, and
plant my hands on his shoulders, only I can't raise myself into the air.
And if I do lift myself up a little way, I remain