The day
was clear, the sun shone brightly, and there was not a single shadow
anywhere.
"Sing, mother!" said the Little Russian. "Oh, what a life!"
And he sang, drowning all the other sounds with his kind, laughing
voice. The mother walked behind him, and complained:
"Why does he make fun of me?"
But suddenly she stumbled and fell in a bottomless abyss. Fearful
shrieks met her in her descent.
She awoke, shivering and yet perspiring. She put her ear, as it
were, to her own breast, and marveled at the emptiness that
prevailed there. The whistle blew insistently. From its sound she
realized that it was already the second summons. The room was all
in disorder; the books and clothes lay about in confusion;
everything was turned upside down, and dirt was trampled over the
entire floor.
She arose, and without washing or praying began to set the room in
order. In the kitchen she caught sight of the stick with the piece
of red cloth. She seized it angrily, and was about to throw it away
under the oven, but instead, with a sigh, removed the remnant of the
flag from the pole, folded it carefully, and put it in her pocket.
Then she began to wash the windows with cold water, next the floor,
and finally herself; then dressed herself and prepared the samovar.
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