“Uncle Petrusha, tell mamma to have the kittens taken to the nursery,” the children beg their uncle, “do-o tell her.”

“There, there . . . very well,” says their uncle, waving them off.  “All right.”

Uncle Petrusha does not usually come alone.  He is accompanied by Nero, a big black dog of Danish breed, with drooping ears, and a tail as hard as a stick.  The dog is silent, morose, and full of a sense of his own dignity.  He takes not the slightest notice of the children, and when he passes them hits them with his tail as though they were chairs.  The children hate him from the bottom of their hearts, but on this occasion, practical considerations override sentiment.

“I say, Nina,” says Vanya, opening his eyes wide.  “Let Nero be their father, instead of the horse!  The horse is dead and he is alive, you see.”

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.

But, at that moment, Stepan comes in and, with a snigger, announces: 

“Nero has eaten the kittens, madam.”

Nina and Vanya turn pale and look at Stepan with horror.

“He really has . . .” laughs the footman, “he went to the box and gobbled them up.”

The children expect that all the people in the house will be aghast and fall upon the miscreant Nero.  But they all sit calmly in their seats, and only express surprise at the appetite of the huge dog.  Papa and mamma laugh.  Nero walks about by the table, wags his tail, and licks his lips complacently . . . the cat is the only one who is uneasy.  With her tail in the air she walks about the rooms, looking suspiciously at people and mewing plaintively.

“Children, it’s past nine,” cries mamma, “it’s bedtime.”

Vanya and Nina go to bed, shed tears, and spend a long time thinking about the injured cat, and the cruel, insolent, and unpunished Nero.

A DAY IN THE COUNTRY

Between eight and nine o’clock in the morning.

A dark leaden-coloured mass is creeping over the sky towards the sun.  Red zigzags of lightning gleam here and there across it.  There is a sound of far-away rumbling.  A warm wind frolics over the grass, bends the trees, and stirs up the dust.  In a minute there will be a spurt of May rain and a real storm will begin.

Fyokla, a little beggar-girl of six, is running through the village, looking for Terenty the cobbler.  The white-haired, barefoot child is pale.  Her eyes are wide-open, her lips are trembling.

“Uncle, where is Terenty?” she asks every one she meets.  No one answers.  They are all preoccupied with the approaching storm and take refuge in their huts.  At last she meets Silanty Silitch, the sacristan, Terenty’s bosom friend.  He is coming along, staggering from the wind.