On the second wall of the schoolroom hung some maps—­mostly torn, but glued together again by Karl’s hand.  On the third wall (in the middle of which stood the door) hung, on one side of the door, a couple of rulers (one of them ours—­much bescratched, and the other one his—­quite a new one), with, on the further side of the door, a blackboard on which our more serious faults were marked by circles and our lesser faults by crosses.  To the left of the blackboard was the corner in which we had to kneel when naughty.  How well I remember that corner—­the shutter on the stove, the ventilator above it, and the noise which it made when turned!  Sometimes I would be made to stay in that corner till my back and knees were aching all over, and I would think to myself.  “Has Karl Ivanitch forgotten me?  He goes on sitting quietly in his arm-chair and reading his Hydrostatics, while I—!” Then, to remind him of my presence, I would begin gently turning the ventilator round.  Or scratching some plaster off the wall; but if by chance an extra large piece fell upon the floor, the fright of it was worse than any punishment.  I would glance round at Karl, but he would still be sitting there quietly, book in hand, and pretending that he had noticed nothing.

In the middle of the room stood a table, covered with a torn black oilcloth so much cut about with penknives that the edge of the table showed through.  Round the table stood unpainted chairs which, through use, had attained a high degree of polish.  The fourth and last wall contained three windows, from the first of which the view was as follows, Immediately beneath it there ran a high road on which every irregularity, every pebble, every rut was known and dear to me.  Beside the road stretched a row of lime-trees, through which glimpses could be caught of a wattled fence, with a meadow with farm buildings on one side of it and a wood on the other—­the whole bounded by the keeper’s hut at the further end of the meadow, The next window to the right overlooked the part of the terrace where the “grownups” of the family used to sit before luncheon.  Sometimes, when Karl was correcting our exercises, I would look out of that window and see Mamma’s dark hair and the backs of some persons with her, and hear the murmur of their talking and laughter.  Then I would feel vexed that I could not be there too, and think to myself, “When am I going to be grown up, and to have no more lessons, but sit with the people whom I love instead of with these horrid dialogues in my hand?” Then my anger would change to sadness, and I would fall into such a reverie that I never heard Karl when he scolded me for my mistakes.

At last, on the morning of which I am speaking, Karl Ivanitch took off his dressing-gown, put on his blue frockcoat with its creased and crumpled shoulders, adjusted his tie before the looking-glass, and took us down to greet Mamma.

II —­ MAMMA