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Updated: June 15, 2025
He came back from the high school late, between four and five. He came in, and noiselessly lay down on his bed. His thin face was pale. There were dark rings round his red eyes. "Well, how did you get on? How were you marked?" asked his mother, going to his bedside. Vanya blinked, twisted his mouth, and burst into tears. His mother turned pale, let her mouth fall open, and clasped her hands.
But before their tears were dry the bad ones began to ask for the silver saucer and the transparent apple. "No, no," says the old man; "I shall keep them for ever, in memory of my poor little daughter whom God has taken away." So the bad ones did not gain by killing their little sister. "That is one good thing," said Vanya. "But is that all, grandfather?" said Maroosia.
There were many people in the village; quite a town it was eight huts at least, thirty or forty souls, good company to be had for crossing the road. But the old man and the old woman were unhappy, in spite of living like that in the very middle of the world. And why do you think they were unhappy? They were unhappy because they had no little Vanya and no little Maroosia. Think of that.
He was undersized and weakly, and dressed rather poorly. The remaining boy, Vanya, I had not noticed at first; he was lying on the ground, peacefully curled up under a square rug, and only occasionally thrust his curly brown head out from under it: this boy was seven years old at the most. So I lay under the bush at one side and looked at the boys.
Ványa Sukhíkh, that dancer, jester, buffoon, that favourite of the children, and a child himself that kindest-hearted of beings a murderer! What nonsense! I did not believe him for a single moment. I was startled in the extreme that he should have been able to utter such a word! Nevertheless, I betook myself to Alexyéi Sergyéitch.
And all night long fire glows in the skulls and fades as the dawn rises." "Now tell us one of the Baba Yaga stories," said Maroosia. "Please," said Vanya. "I will tell you how one little girl got away from her, and then, if ever she catches you, you will know exactly what to do." And old Peter put down his pipe and began:
They are waiting the whole evening for the moment when papa will sit down to his cards and it will be possible to take Nero to the kitchen without being observed. . . . At last, papa sits down to cards, mamma is busy with the samovar and not noticing the children. . . . The happy moment arrives. "Come along!" Vanya whispers to his sister.
"Oh, I am so sorry for him!" "Sorry for whom?" "Va Vanya. . . ." "And do you suppose I'm not? But what's to be done? We are causing him suffering. . . . He will be unhappy, will curse us . . . but is it our fault that we love one another?" As he uttered the last word, Groholsky darted away from Liza as though he had been stung and sat down in an easy chair.
"I have to go, and I suppose there'll be room in the cart for two little bear cubs like you." And so it was settled that Vanya and Maroosia were to go to the christening of their new cousin, who was only twelve hours old.
They could not for long after reconcile themselves to my presence, and, drowsily blinking and staring into the fire, they growled now and then with an unwonted sense of their own dignity; first they growled, and then whined a little, as though deploring the impossibility of carrying out their desires. There were altogether five boys: Fedya, Pavlusha, Ilyusha, Kostya and Vanya.
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