It was a real fight. The confusion was so great that it was impossible to tell who was beating whom. Vanka tried to separate the fighters, but it ended in his beating anybody and everybody who came within his arm's reach. And as he was the strongest, his guests came off pretty badly.
"Help! Help! Heavens' help!" cried Petrooshka, loudest of all, trying to strike the Doctor.
"They are murdering Petrooshka! Help! Help!"
Slipper was the only one who escaped the fight. She crept under the couch just in time. She closed her eyes in fear. Rabbit, seeking safety, hid inside Slipper.
"Where are you going?" grumbled Slipper.
"Keep still! They might hear us and then both of us would get it," pleaded little Rabbit, peeping through the tiny hole in Slipper's toe. "What a rascal that Petrooshka is! He beats everyone and shouts loudest of all. He's a fine guest, I must say! You know I hardly got away from Wolf. My! it's horror, just to think of it! Just see Duckling with her tiny legs up. Poor thing! She must be dead."
"How foolish you are, little Rabbit," said Slipper. "All the dolls have fainted and so has Duckling."
They fought and fought and fought until Vanka drove away all the guests except the Dolls.
Matryona Ivanovna, tired of lying in a faint, opened one eye and asked:
"Where am I? Doctor, will you see if I am still alive?"
No one answered her and MatryonaIvanovna opened her other eye. The room was empty except for Vanka, who stood in the center looking around, much astonished. Anya and Katya also revived and they, too, were amazed. Something horrible must have happened.
"You're a fine birthday child, I must say!" simultaneously exclaimed the Dolls, addressing Vanka, who did not know what to answer.
Someone hit him; he hit someone. Why? Wherefore? He did not know.
"I really do not know how it all happened," said Vanka. "The thing that hurts most is that I love them all. All without exception."
"We know how it all happened," called Slipper and Rabbit from under the couch. "We saw it all."
"It is all your fault," said Matryona Ivanovna, accusing little Slipper andRabbit. "Of course, it is you who are to blame. You started the row and then you ran away and hid."
"They're to blame! They're to blame!" screamed Anya and Katya in chorus.
"Now I see it all," cried Vanka, joyfully. "Get out, you rascals! You only visit people to start quarrels."
Slipper and Rabbit were barely able to make their escape through the window.
"I'll teach you a lesson," threatened Matryona Ivanovna, following in their wake. "There are some nasty people in this world! Even little Duckling will agree with me."
"Yes, yes," said little Duckling. "I saw them hide under the couch." Duckling always agreed with everybody.
"Let the guests return," said Katya. "We can still have a jolly time."
The guests were all glad to come back.Some had black eyes; some limped. Petrooshka's long nose had the worst of it.
"The rascals!" all repeated in chorus, blaming Rabbit and Slipper for everything. "Who would have thought it of them!"
"Oh, I am so tired! My hands are all sore," complained Vanka. "But let us forget it and bear no grudge. Let's have music."
Once more, drum beat—rub-a-dub-dub! Trumpets blew—toot-a-toot-too! And Petrooshka shouted with all his might:
"Hurrah for Vanka!"
MASTER Sparrow and Master Stickelback were great friends. In summer, Master Sparrow came daily to the river, calling:
"Hello, brother! How are you?"
"Pretty well. Managing to keep alive," answered Stickelback. "Come to visit me. The deep pools are fine. The water is quiet. And it's just full of water grass. I will treat you to frogs' eggs, worms and water bugs."
"Thank you, brother, I would come with pleasure, only I am afraid of the water," said the Sparrow. "You better visit me on my roof. I'll treat you to berries—I have a whole garden full—and we will rummage for some bread crusts, some oats, a bit of sugar and live mosquitoes. You like sugar, don't you?"
"What does it look like?" asked Stickelback.
"It is white."
"Like the pebbles in my river?"
"Exactly. But when you take it into your mouth it's sweet. One can't eatpebbles, you know. Come, let us fly to my roof."
"No, I can't fly. And I suffocate in the open air," said the Fish. "Let us have a swim together in my river. That's much better. I will show you all sorts of things."
Master Sparrow tried to get into the water. He jumped in up to his knees; then fear seized him—fear of drowning. Heretofore, all that the Sparrow had ever done was to get a drink of clear river water and to take a bath in the shallowest part on a hot day. Then he would shake his feathers out and return to his roof.
Nevertheless, the two were great friends. They liked chatting together about all sorts of things.
"Don't you ever get tired of staying in the water," Sparrow would say, wondering."It is so wet. Aren't you afraid of taking cold?"
Master Stickelback in his turn would wonder at Master Sparrow:
"Don't you ever get tired of flying? Isn't it too warm to be out in the sun? It would just suffocate me. It is always cool where I live. I swim as I like. When summer comes, my river is crowded with bathers. But who ever visits your roof?"
"Oh, I have plenty of visitors. I have one great chum, the Chimney-Sweep, Yasha. He often visits me. He is such a jolly Chimney-Sweep, always singing. He cleans the chimneys, singing away. When he rests, he sits on the very edge of the roof, eats his piece of bread for lunch, while I pick up the crumbs. We are great friends. I also like to be jolly sometimes."
The Sparrow and the Fish had many troubles in common. Winter was veryhard on both. Poor Master Sparrow almost froze to death. The days were so bitter cold. His very soul seemed to freeze within him. He would puff himself up, tuck his legs underneath him and sit on his roof, waiting for the sunshine. There was only one other warm place for him and that was the chimney, but even here it was hardly safe.
Once, Master Sparrow almost perished. It was the fault of his best friend, the Chimney-Sweep. One day, Yasha came to clean the chimney. His brush, with the weight attached, came down the chimney and almost smashed Master Sparrow's head. Covered with soot, Master Sparrow escaped from the chimney. He was even blacker than Yasha.
"I say! What do you mean, Yasha? You almost killed me," scolded Master Sparrow.
"How was I to know you were sitting in the chimney?" asked Yasha.
"You must be more careful," said Master Sparrow. "It isn't very nice to be hit by such a heavy weight. I am sure you wouldn't like it."
In winter, Stickelback's life was not very pleasant. He crawled somewhere deep, deep into the river and dozed there for days. It was dark and cold and he had no desire to move. Occasionally he came up to the ice-hole to chat with his friend.
When Master Sparrow came to the ice-hole for a drink, he would call, "Hey, Master Stickelback! Are you still alive?"
"I am," Master Stickelback would answer sleepily. "But I want to stay asleep all the time. It isn't very nice here. Everybody is asleep."
"It isn't much better where I live," said Sparrow. "But we must be patient. Attimes the wind is very cruel. There is no sleep then. I hop along on one leg to keep warm, while people watching me say, 'What a gay little sparrow!' If only warm days would come! Brother, I believe you are asleep again."
Summer brought with it its own troubles. Once a hawk chased Master Sparrow for two miles. Sparrow barely escaped by hiding in the sedge near the river.
"My! I am glad to get off alive," complained Master Sparrow to Master Stickelback, scarcely able to catch his breath. "That rascal almost caught me then."
"He must be something like our pike," said Stickelback, consolingly. "Not long ago I, too, barely escaped the pike's fangs. That pike was as quick as lightning. One day, as I was swimming out with some friends, I mistook him for a log, he lay sostill, and he chased me. Will you tell me why there are pikes in the world? I have often wondered, but I cannot understand."
"Neither can I," said Master Sparrow. "Do you know, I sometimes think that a hawk must at one time have been a pike and a pike must have been a hawk. Anyway, both are rascals."
THUS lived Master Sparrow and Master Stickelback, freezing in winter, joyous in summer; while jolly Chimney-Sweep, Yasha, cleaned his chimneys and sang his songs. Each had his work, his joys and his troubles.
One summer day the Chimney-Sweep walked down to the river to wash. He walked along, whistling, when suddenlyhe heard a terrific noise. What had happened?
Whirling above the river was a crowd of birds, ducks, geese, swallows, snipe, crows and pigeons, shouting with laughter, for no apparent reason.
"I say! What has happened?" asked the Chimney-Sweep.
"This is what happened," piped a bold Bluebird. "It is too funny for words. Just see what Master Sparrow is doing. He seems quite mad."
The Bluebird piped in her thin, high voice, flicked her tail and soared above the river. When Chimney-Sweep drew nearer, Master Sparrow just flew at him. He was frightful to behold. His beak was open, his eyes wild, his feathers all ruffled.
"Master Sparrow, what is all thisabout? Why are you making all this noise?" asked the Chimney-Sweep.
"No! I'll teach him a few things!" shouted Master Sparrow, fairly choking with rage. "He doesn't yet know who I am! I'll teach that confounded Stickelback! He'll have cause to remember me! The rascal!"
"Don't listen to him," shouted Stickelback from his river. "It's all lies."
"Who is lying?" shouted Master Sparrow. "Who found the worm? I'm lying? Indeed! A nice fat worm that I myself dug up on the bank. I worked hard, too. I finally got him and was just about ready to take him home to my nest—I have a family, you know, that has to be fed. No sooner did I get above the river, the worm in my mouth, than that abominable Stickelback (I hope the pike swallows him) shouted, 'Hawk! Hawk!' Iscreamed with fright and the worm dropped out of my mouth into the water and Master Stickelback swallowed him. I call this cheating. There was no hawk in sight."
"It was only a little joke of mine," said Stickelback, defending himself. "That worm was really delicious."
All kinds of fish were gathered about Stickelback, minnows, carp and perch, listening and laughing at the story.
"Yes, that was a fine trick Master Stickelback played on his old friend. But funnier still was to see Master Sparrow fighting Master Stickelback, flying at him again and again and getting nothing."
"I hope my worm chokes you! I'll dig up another," shouted Master Sparrow. "What hurts me most is that Stickelback fooled me and now he laughs at me. I was even inviting him to visit me on my roof.A fine friend he is, I must say! Here's our Chimney-Sweep, Yasha. He will agree with me, I'm sure. He's my good friend. At times, we even eat together. Yasha eats his bread and I pick up the crumbs."
"Wait, brothers! This affair needs a judge," announced Yasha. "Just let me wash myself and I shall deal with the whole thing fairly. And you, Master Sparrow, just calm yourself a bit."
"I know I am right. I have nothing to worry about," shouted Master Sparrow. "I only want to show Stickelback that I shall not stand for his jokes."
Chimney-Sweep Yasha sat down on the bank, put his lunch near him, washed his face and hands, and said:
"Now, brothers, let us get at the bottom of this trouble. You, Master Stickelback,are a fish. And you, Master Sparrow, are a bird. Am I right?"
"Yes, yes," shouted the birds and fishes in chorus.
"Let us go on," said Yasha. "A fish must live in water, a bird in the air. Am I right? Well then, a worm lives in the ground. Very well. Now let's see."
The Chimney-Sweep opened his lunch, a piece of wheaten bread, and laid it on a stone, saying:
"Now look! What is this? Bread, isn't it? I earned it and I shall eat it. And with it, I shall have a drink of water. All this means that I have earned my dinner without harming anyone. A fish and a bird also want their dinner. Each of you has his own food. Why quarrel? Master Sparrow dug up the worm, therefore the worm was his. He earned it."
"Wait, Uncle," piped a thin voice inthe crowd. The birds moved apart to allow a little snipe to come forward. Standing on his thin little legs close to the Chimney-Sweep, the snipe said:
"It isn't true, Uncle."
"What isn't true?" asked Yasha.
"About the worm," said the snipe. "I found it. You can ask the ducks. They saw me. I found the worm and Master Sparrow snatched it away from me."
Chimney-Sweep Yasha was puzzled. This was quite a different story.
"Let me see," he murmured, trying to gather his thoughts together. "Hey, Master Sparrow! What do you mean by lying to me?"
"I'm not lying. The snipe is. He and the ducks made that story up."
"Well, brothers, something is wrong. Of course, a worm isn't anything, but tosteal it, is not nice. And he who steals must lie. Am I not right?"
"Right! You are right!" shouted all in chorus. "All the same, you have to be the judge between Master Stickelback and Master Sparrow."
"Which of those two is right?" asked Yasha. "Both made a noise. Both fought and stirred up everybody else. Who is right? Oh, the two of you, Master Stickelback and Master Sparrow, the two of you are rascals. I will punish both of you as an example. Now, both of you make up quickly."
"That's right," shouted the crowd in chorus. "Let them make up."
"As for the snipe who worked to get the worm, I will feed him with my crust," decided the Chimney-Sweep. "Then everybody will be satisfied."
"Splendid!" all shouted their approval.
The Chimney-Sweep made a move to offer his crust to the snipe, but the crust had disappeared. While Yasha was talking, Master Sparrow grabbed the crust and flew away with it.
"The rascal! The scamp!" shouted the birds and the fishes indignantly, starting in pursuit of the thief.
The crust was heavy and Master Sparrow could not fly far with it. He was caught just beyond the river. Birds, large and small, threw themselves upon the thief. It was a real battle. They were all tearing the bread to bits and the crumbs fell into the river. These the fishes grabbed. Then followed a battle between birds and fish. The crust was broken into tiny crumbs. The crumbs were eaten up. When it was all over, everybody grew thoughtful. They felt ashamed. Whilechasing the thief to recover the crust, they had grabbed it up themselves.
The jolly Chimney-Sweep, Yasha, sat on the bank, watching and laughing. The whole affair had turned out to be so funny. They were all gone. There remained only the Sandy Snipe.
"Why don't you fly along with the others?" asked the Chimney-Sweep.
"I would, Uncle, only I am too small. The big birds might peck me to death."
"Well, maybe you are right, little Snipe. Both of us are left without our dinner. Evidently, we haven't worked hard enough for it."
Then came Verotchka to the river bank and asked the jolly Chimney-Sweep what had happened. How she laughed when she heard the story!
"How foolish they all are, the fish and the birds," said Verotchka. "I coulddivide everything right, and no one would quarrel. Not long ago I divided four apples. Father brought four apples and said, 'Divide these between you and Lisa and me evenly.' I divided them into three parts. I gave one apple to father, one apple to Lisa, and I took two apples for myself."
SUMMER-TIME is a merry time for flies. It is hard to tell just how it all happened. There were so many flies; thousands of them, gaily flying and buzzing.
When Little Fly was born, she straightened out her wings and immediately felt happy,—so happy that one really cannot tell it in words. It was all so interesting. The doors and windows leading to the porch were thrown wide open in the morning, and Little Fly flitted in and out as she pleased.
"How kind human beings are!" exclaimed Little Fly, astonished, flying in and out of the windows. "The windows were made for us, and they are open for us. It is so nice to be alive and feeling so happy."
She flew in and out of the garden many times. Sitting on a blade of grass, she admired the blooming lilacs, the delicate leaves of the budding poplars, and the different flowers in their beds. The gardener, still unknown to her, had taken care of everything. What a kind gardener! LittleFly was not born yet and he had already prepared everything she might need. It was all the more amazing since he himself was not only unable to fly, but he even walked about with great difficulty, trembling all over at times, and muttering to himself.
"I wonder where these nasty flies come from?" grumbled the kind gardener.
The poor dear probably said this from sheer envy because all he could do was to dig beds, set out and water flowers. He couldn't fly. Little Fly liked to buzz around the gardener's red nose, which annoyed him very much.
People were usually very kind, providing all kinds of pleasures for flies. For instance, when Verotchka had her bread and milk in the morning, she always asked Aunt Olga for a piece of sugar. This she did just to give Little Fly a chance to have a bit of sugar, a few crumbs of bread, and a few drops of milk.
"Now tell me, is there anything more delicious than this treat after working busily all morning?" said Little Fly.
Cook Pascha was even kinder than Verotchka. Every morning she would go to market and bring such wonderful things, especially for the flies—meat, fish, cream and butter. Pascha was the kindest woman in the whole house. Though, like the gardener, she could not fly, she knew perfectly well every need of a fly. She was the kindest woman in all the world.
And Aunt Olga—oh, that wonderful woman!—seemed to live only for the flies. With her own hands she would open all the windows every morning, so that the flies might come and go at will. When it rained, or it was cold, she closed the windows to keep their little wings dry and preventthem from catching cold. Then Aunt Olga noticed that flies liked sugar and berries. So every day she cooked berries and sugar. The flies knew at once why she did this, and to show their gratitude, they crawled right into the pans of jam.
Verotchka was also very fond of jam, but Aunt Olga would only give her one or two teaspoonfuls, because she did not wish to deprive the flies of their share. As the flies could not eat all the jam at once, Aunt Olga put away the jam in jars (to keep it away from mice who were not entitled to jam) ready to serve to the flies each day at tea time.
"Oh, how kind and good everybody is!" exclaimed Little Fly, flitting in and out of the window. "It is even good that people cannot fly, for they would turn into big,greedy flies, grabbing up everything. It's fine to live in this world!"
"But people aren't at all as kind as you think," remarked an old fly who liked to grumble occasionally. "It only seems so to you. Have you ever noticed the man they call Papa?"
"Oh, yes. He is a very strange gentleman. You are perfectly right, good old fly. Why does he smoke that pipe? He knows very well I do not like tobacco smoke. It seems to me sometimes that he does it just to spite me. And he doesn't like to do anything for flies. You know, once I tasted that ink with which he is forever writing, and I almost died. It was awful. I once saw with my own eyes two pretty, inexperienced young flies drown in his ink. It was a dreadful sight to see how he pulled them out with his pen, put them on his paper, making a splendid blot.Just think of it! Then he blames us and not himself. Where is justice?"
"I think this Papa has no sense of justice, although he has one good quality," answered the old, experienced fly. "He drinks beer after dinner. That isn't at all a bad habit. To tell the truth, I like a taste of beer myself, though it does make me dizzy."
"I also like beer," confessed Little Fly, blushing slightly. "I become quite gay after having some, although my head aches the next day. Perhaps Papa does not do anything for flies because he does not care for jam and puts all of his sugar into his tea. One really cannot expect much of a man who does not eat jam. There is nothing left for him but his pipe."
The flies knew people very well, although they interpreted them in their own fashion.
THE summer was hot. Each day brought more and more flies. They fell into the milk, crawled into the soup and into the ink-well, they buzzed and they whirled and annoyed everyone. Our Little Fly grew up into a big fly. On several occasions she almost perished. The first time her legs stuck in jam and she was just able to free herself. The second time she flew sleepily against a burning lamp and almost scorched her wings. The third time she was almost crushed by a closing window. On the whole, she had many adventures.
"There is no living with these flies about," complained Cook. "They act like mad—crawling into everything. They must be done away with."
Even our Fly decided that there were altogether too many flies, especially in the kitchen. At night the ceiling was black with them. They seemed like a moving net. When the provisions were brought, the flies threw themselves upon them—a live mass, pushing, jostling, quarrelling. The best morsels fell to the lot of the bold and the strong. The rest had the remains.
Pascha, the cook, was right. There were too many flies. Then something horrible happened. One morning, Pascha brought along with the provisions a package of very tasty papers—that is, she made them tasty, when she spread them out on plates, by moistening them with warm water and sprinkling sugar over them.
"There is a fine treat for the flies," said Pascha, putting the plates where they could be seen. Without Pascha's saying anything, the flies knew at once that thiswas a special treat for them. Buzzing gaily, they threw themselves upon the new dainty. Our Fly tried to get into a plate, but she was pushed rudely aside.
"No pushing, please," said she, offended, "I'm not one of those greedy ones, you know. You are quite rude."
Then something quite terrible happened. Thousands of flies died. The greediest were the first to succumb. They crawled about as if drunk and then fell to the ground, dead. In the morning, Pascha swept up a large plate full of dead flies. Only the most sensible ones remained alive. Among these was our Fly.
"No papers for us," buzzed the surviving flies. "We don't want them."
The next day the same thing happened. Of all the sensible flies only the most sensible remained alive. But Pascha stillcomplained, "There is no living with these flies about."
Then the gentleman they called Papa brought home three very pretty glass bowls and filled them with beer. This time even the most sensible flies were caught. It turned out that these bowls were nothing but fly-catchers. The flies, attracted by the smell of beer, were caught in the bowls and perished.
"That's good," said Pascha approvingly. She had turned out to be the most heartless of women, rejoicing at others' misfortunes.
"There isn't anything good about that," said Little Fly. "If people had wings like flies and someone were to set a fly-catcher as big as a house, they, too, would be caught."
Our Fly, learning from the bitter experiences of the sensible flies, ceased totrust people. They only seem kind, these people; while, in reality, they are busy with just one thing—to cheat poor trusting flies. To tell the truth, human beings are the slyest and crudest of animals.
Through all these misfortunes the number of flies decreased considerably. Then followed another calamity. Suddenly summer was gone. Rains began to fall. Cold winds blew. The weather was very disagreeable.
"Is summer really gone?" asked the few remaining flies. "How could it have passed so quickly. It doesn't seem quite fair. We have hardly had time to live and autumn is already upon us."
This was worse than poison paper or glass fly-catchers. There was only one escape from the coming bad weather—to seek shelter with one's bitterest enemy, Master Man. Alas, now the windowswere closed all day long and only the ventilators were occasionally open! The very sun seemed to shine just to deceive the trustful house flies.
For instance, what do you think of this picture? It is morning. The sun is gaily peeping into all the windows as if inviting the flies into the garden. You would think summer was returning. And what happens? The trustful flies fly through the ventilator into the garden. True, the sun is shining, but it gives no heat. They try to return to the house but the ventilator has been closed. Thus many flies perished in the cold autumn nights.
"No, I no longer believe," said our Little Fly, "I have no faith in anything. Since even the sun deceives me, I believe in nothing."
It is understood that with the coming of the fall all flies experienced the same unhappymoods. They became very disagreeable. Not a sign of their former gayety remained. They became gloomy, indolent and dissatisfied. Some of them even began to bite, which they had never been known to do before.
Our Fly's disposition became so bad she didn't know herself. She had always been so sorry for other flies. Now when they perished, she thought only of herself. She was even ashamed to speak the thoughts that were in her mind, "Let them perish, then there will be more left for me." In the first place, there were not many warm corners where a decent fly could spend the winter. In the second place, the other flies were very annoying, always in the way, snatching from under her nose the very best tidbits, and behaving badly in general. Besides, it was time for them to rest.
The flies seemed to understand the cruelthoughts of our Fly and they fell by the hundreds. They didn't seem to die—just to fall asleep. With each day their number grew smaller and smaller. There was no longer any need of poison paper or glass fly-catchers. But all this was not enough to satisfy our Fly. She wanted to be the only fly left in the world.
THERE came a very happy day. One morning our Fly woke up quite late. She had felt a curious weariness for a long time and preferred to remain immovable in her corner under the stove. And now she felt that something unusual was going to happen. She flew to the window. The first snow had fallen! The ground was covered with a brilliant, white, shining sheet.
"Oh, this must be winter!" Our Fly knew at once. "Winter is all white, like a piece of sugar."
Then our Fly noticed that all the other flies had disappeared. The poor things could not survive the first frost and dropped off to sleep wherever they happened to be. In former days, our Fly would have felt very sorry for them. But now she thought, "This is splendid. Now I am really the only one. No one will eat my jam, my sugar, my crumbs. This is fine."
She flew through all the rooms to convince herself that she was the only fly left. Now she could do anything she pleased. It was so nice. The house was so warm. Winter was there, out of doors; but inside the house it was bright, warm, and cozy, especially in the evening when the candles and lamps were lighted. A slight misfortune occurred when the first lamp waslighted. Our Fly once more flew against it and was almost scorched to death.
"This must be the winter fly-trap," said our Fly, rubbing her burnt legs. "Now you can't fool me. I know too much. You wish to burn the Last Fly, do you? Well, that's the last thing that I want. There is also a hot stove in the kitchen. Don't I know that, too, is a fly-catcher?"
The Last Fly was happy for a few days only. Then suddenly she felt lonely, so lonely, so very lonely. Of course, she was warm and there was plenty to eat, but still she was unhappy. She flew and rested and ate. She flew again, but she felt lonelier than ever.
"Oh, how lonely I am!" she buzzed in a thin, pitiful voice, flying from one room to the other. "If there were only one other fly here! The meanest, the worst of them, but only one fly!"
No one seemed to understand the complaints of the Last Fly and this of course made her cross. She flew about like one mad, alighting on this one's nose, on that one's ear, or back and forth in front of people's eyes.
"Heavens, can't you understand? I am quite alone in the world and I am very, very lonely," she would buzz at every one. "You don't even know how to fly. How can you know loneliness? If someone were only to play with me! But no, how can they? What can be clumsier and heavier than a human being? The ugliest creatures I have ever met."
The Last Fly annoyed the dog and the cat and everybody else. She was most hurt when she heard Aunt Olga say, "Please don't touch the Last Fly. Leave her alone. Let her live through the winter." This was insulting! It sounded asif she was not even considered a fly. "Let her live." What a kindness!
"But I am so lonely! Maybe I don't want to live. That's all there's to it."
The Last Fly was so angry at everybody that she grew frightened at herself. She flew, she buzzed, she squeaked, she squealed. The spider in the corner finally took pity on her and said:
"Dear fly, come to me. See how pretty my web is!"
"Thank you very much," said the Last Fly. "Are you my new friend? I know what your pretty cob web means. You were probably a human being at one time who is now pretending to be a spider."
"You know I wish you well," said the spider.
"Oh, you ugly creature!" said the Fly. "To eat the Last Fly means to wish me well, hey?"
They had a great quarrel. Nevertheless, it was lonely, too lonely for words to tell. The Fly was bitter against everybody. She grew weary and in a loud voice announced:
"Since all of you refuse to understand how lonely I am, I will sit here in the corner the whole winter through. That's all there is to it! Yes, I will stay in the corner and nothing will make me leave it. So there!"
When she returned to her corner she cried, thinking of last summer's gladness. There had been so many merry flies. How foolish she had been to desire to be left alone. That had been a great mistake.
The winter seemed endless and Last Fly was beginning to think that summer would never return. She wished to die and she wept quietly. Surely human beings invented winter. They alwaysseemed to think of things that harmed flies. Perhaps it was Aunt Olga who had hidden away the summer, as she did sugar and jam. Last Fly was almost dead with despair when something unexpected happened.
One day she was sitting in her corner, as was her custom, when she suddenly heard, "Buzz! Buzz!" She couldn't believe her own ears at first and then she thought that someone was fooling her. And then—heavens!—what was that? A real live fly! A Fly, very young, flew past. It was just born and it was glad.
"Spring is coming! Spring is coming!" it buzzed.
How glad the two were to see each other! They embraced and kissed, and licked each other's feelers. The Last Fly talked for days, telling her new friend what an awful winter she had spent andhow lonely she had been. The young fly only laughed in her thin little voice. She couldn't understand how anyone could be lonely.
"Spring! Spring!" she joyfully repeated.
When Aunt Olga ordered the winter windows removed and Verotchka leaned out of the first open window, Last Fly knew what was happening.
"Now, I know it all," buzzed Last Fly, flying out of the window. "We flies make the summer."
THE Black-Headed Crow sat in a birch tree, pecking at a twig. Peck! Peck! She cleaned her bill, looked around, and suddenly cawed, "Caw! Caw!"
The drowsy cat, Vaska, sitting on a fence, almost fell off with fright at the noise and growled:
"What is the matter with you, Blackhead? The Lord has given you some voice! What are you happy about?"
The Crow answered, "Leave me alone. Don't you see I'm busy? Caw! Caw! Caw! So much to do, so much to do."
"You poor thing," laughed Vaska.
"Keep still, you lazy thing. Your sides must be all worn out with lying about, forever baking in the sun; while I know no rest from early morning. Look at me. Just see what I've done today. I perched on ten roofs, flew over half the town, peeped into every corner and hole there is, and now I must fly up the church steeple, visit the market, and dig a little in the garden. But I'm really wasting time talkingto you. Too busy! Too busy! Caw! Caw! Caw!"
The Crow pecked her beak for the last time against the twig, shook her feathers out and was just ready to fly off when she heard a terrible noise. A flock of sparrows was noisily chasing a tiny little yellow bird.
"Catch her! Catch her!" squawked the sparrows.
"What's happened? Whither away?" cawed the Crow, following the sparrows.
The Crow flapped her wings ten times and caught up with the sparrows. The tiny yellow bird, completely exhausted, dropped into the little garden overgrown with bushes of lilacs, currants and syringa, to hide from the pursuing sparrows. The little yellow bird hid under a bush and there was the Crow.
"Who are you?" cawed the Crow.
The sparrows scattered over that bush like a handful of peas. They were furious with the little yellow bird and wanted to peck her to death.
"What do you want with her?" asked the Crow.
"Why is she yellow?" peeped the sparrows in chorus.
The Crow looked at the little yellow bird. She certainly was all yellow. He jerked his head and said:
"Oh, you mischiefs! Why, it isn't a bird at all! There never was a bird like this! However, all you clear out. I must speak with this curiosity that pretends to be a bird."
The sparrows piped, chatted, and were very angry, but they had to clear out. Conversations with a Crow are always very brief. He can peck you to death, you know.
After chasing the sparrows, the Crow questioned the little yellow bird that was breathing heavily and looking pitifully at him with her little black eyes.
"Who are you?" asked the Crow.
"I am a canary."
"No fooling now, or you will get the worst of it. Remember, if it had not been for me, the sparrows would have pecked you to death."
"But I am a canary."
"Where do you come from?" asked the Crow.
"I lived in a cage. I was born in a cage. I grew up in a cage. But I always wanted to fly about like other birds. The cage hung near the window and I always watched other birds. They looked so happy and my cage seemed so small. Well, one day when the little girl, Verotchka, brought my cup of water, she left the door open and I flew out. I flew about the room first and then I flew out through the open window."