And in the meat-shops
there are woodcocks, partridges, and hares, but who shot them or where
they come from, the shopman won't say.
"Dear Grandpapa, and when the masters give a Christmas tree, take a
golden walnut and hide it in my green box. Ask the young lady, Olga
Ignatyevna, for it, say it's for Vanka."
Vanka sighed convulsively, and again stared at the window. He
remembered that his grandfather always went to the forest for the
Christmas tree, and took his grandson with him. What happy times! The
frost crackled, his grandfather crackled, and as they both did, Vanka
did the same. Then before cutting down the Christmas tree his
grandfather smoked his pipe, took a long pinch of snuff, and made fun
of poor frozen little Vanka... The young fir trees, wrapt in
hoar-frost, stood motionless, waiting for which of them would die.
Suddenly a hare springing from somewhere would dart over the
snowdrift... His grandfather could not help shouting:
"Catch it, catch it, catch it! Ah, short-tailed devil!"
When the tree was down, his grandfather dragged it to the master's
house, and there they set about decorating it.
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