The clear, musical voice of the Little Russian sounded in the room: "Pavel, do you hear?
They're calling." The mother heard the patter of bare feet on the floor and some one yawn with gusto.
"The samovar is ready," she cried.
"We're getting up," Pavel answered merrily.
"The sun is rising," said the Little Russian.

"The clouds are racing; they're out of place to-day." He went into the kitchen all disheveled but jolly after his sleep.

"Good morning, mother dear; how did you sleep ?" The mother went to him and whispered: "Andriusha, keep close to him." "Certainly.

As long as it depends on us, we'll always stick to each other, you may be sure." "What's that whispering about ?" Pavel asked.
"Nothing.

She told me to wash myself better, so the girls will look at me," replied the Little Russian, going out on the porch to wash himself.
"'Rise up, awake, you workingmen,'" Pavel sang softly.
As the day grew, the clouds dispersed, chased by the wind.