“Look!” says Terenty.  “An ant-heap burst open by the rain!  They’ve been flooded, the rogues!”

They bend over the ant-heap.  The downpour has damaged it; the insects are scurrying to and fro in the mud, agitated, and busily trying to carry away their drowned companions.

“You needn’t be in such a taking, you won’t die of it!” says Terenty, grinning.  “As soon as the sun warms you, you’ll come to your senses again. . . .  It’s a lesson to you, you stupids.  You won’t settle on low ground another time.”

They go on.

“And here are some bees,” cries Danilka, pointing to the branch of a young oak tree.

The drenched and chilled bees are huddled together on the branch.  There are so many of them that neither bark nor leaf can be seen.  Many of them are settled on one another.

“That’s a swarm of bees,” Terenty informs them.  “They were flying looking for a home, and when the rain came down upon them they settled.  If a swarm is flying, you need only sprinkle water on them to make them settle.  Now if, say, you wanted to take the swarm, you would bend the branch with them into a sack and shake it, and they all fall in.”

Little Fyokla suddenly frowns and rubs her neck vigorously.  Her brother looks at her neck, and sees a big swelling on it.

“Hey-hey!” laughs the cobbler.  “Do you know where you got that from, Fyokia, old girl?  There are Spanish flies on some tree in the wood.  The rain has trickled off them, and a drop has fallen on your neck —­that’s what has made the swelling.”

The sun appears from behind the clouds and floods the wood, the fields, and the three friends with its warm light.  The dark menacing cloud has gone far away and taken the storm with it.  The air is warm and fragrant.  There is a scent of bird-cherry, meadowsweet, and lilies-of-the-valley.

“That herb is given when your nose bleeds,” says Terenty, pointing to a woolly-looking flower.  “It does good.”

They hear a whistle and a rumble, but not such a rumble as the storm-clouds carried away.  A goods train races by before the eyes of Terenty, Danilka, and Fyokla.  The engine, panting and puffing out black smoke, drags more than twenty vans after it.  Its power is tremendous.  The children are interested to know how an engine, not alive and without the help of horses, can move and drag such weights, and Terenty undertakes to explain it to them: 

“It’s all the steam’s doing, children. . . .  The steam does the work. . . .  You see, it shoves under that thing near the wheels, and it . . . you see . . . it works. . . .”

They cross the railway line, and, going down from the embankment, walk towards the river.  They walk not with any object, but just at random, and talk all the way. . . .  Danilka asks questions, Terenty answers them. . . .