Sukhomlinsky old dog story idea. Lesson summary on literary reading "V.A. Sukhomlinsky Old Dog" (2nd grade). For a dog - a dog's death

The cat felt ashamed

The cat is sitting on the threshold. Squinting from the clear sun. Suddenly he hears the sparrows chirping. The cat became quiet and alert. He quietly began to make his way to the fence. And there were sparrows sitting there.

He crawled up to the fence itself - and how he jumped. I wanted to grab the sparrow. And the little sparrow fluttered and flew away.

The cat flew over the fence and fell into a puddle. He jumped out wet and dirty.

The cat is coming home. Shame on him. And the sparrows flocked from all over the yard, flying over the loser and chirping. They are the ones laughing at the cat.

How we saved the lark chicks

We found a lark's nest in the wheat. There are five chicks in the nest. They don't know how to fly. And tomorrow the wheat will be cut by a combine harvester. We look at the little chicks, and the lark flies above us. Screams in alarm. We took a nest with chicks and moved it to green millet. The millet will not be mowed for a long time.

Let's go home. We look: the lark flew into the nest. I sat there for a long time. Then he flew up into the blue sky and sang joyfully. This is what he told us:

Thank you, you saved my kids.

To prevent the butterfly from pricking itself

Little Zoya was walking in the garden. She approached the acacia tree. The acacia tree has sharp, sharp thorns.

A bright butterfly flies over an acacia tree. Oh, how she’s not afraid to fly! If he hits a thorn, what will happen then?

Zoya approached the acacia tree. I broke one thorn, a second, a third.

Mom saw and asked:

What are you doing, Zoya? Why do you break the thorns?

“So that the butterfly doesn’t get pricked,” Zoya answered.

Rain and Thunder

Rain was sleeping on a warm cloud. This is such a small bird, similar to a cockerel. Rain is sleeping.

Thunder crept up to him. This is such a beast - shaggy, hairy. Thunder crept up to the Rain and how it thundered. Rain got scared, woke up and cried. Tears fell to the ground often and often.

And people say: it’s raining. The field and meadow are being washed. Wheat and cabbage are washed.

Rain cried. The rain has stopped.

morning breeze

It was a quiet summer night. Everything was asleep. And the breeze fell asleep and lay down under the willow bush.

But then the morning lightning flared. A breeze woke up and ran out from under the bush. He ran along the shore of the pond. I woke up the reed. A reed rustled and swayed. And a butterfly slept on it. The butterfly also woke up. She flew towards the village, and the morning lightning flared up more and more clearly. The sun will soon rise. A butterfly flew to a rose flower. She sat on a flower, the flower woke up. I looked around me, and the sun was already shining.

Bunny and rowan

Winter came. The ground was covered with snow. It became difficult for the bunny to get food.

One day he saw red berries on a rowan tree. The bunny is jumping around the tree, and the berries are high.

The bunny asks:

Give me some berries, rowan.

And the mountain ash answers:

Ask for the wind. He will help you.

The bunny turned to the wind. The wind has arrived, swaying and shaking the mountain ash. A bunch of red berries came off and fell on the snow. The bunny is happy with the berries.

“Thank you, wind,” he says.

Autumn brought golden ribbons

Two birch trees grow above the pond. Slender, tall, fair-haired. The birch trees let down their green braids. The wind is blowing, combing your braids. Birch leaves whisper quietly. They are talking about something.

One night it got cold. White ice crystals glittered on the grass. Autumn has come to the birches. She brought them golden ribbons. We wove birch ribbons into green braids.

The sun has risen. Melted the ice crystals. The sun looked at the birches and did not recognize them - there were golden ribbons in the green braids. The sun laughs, but the birches are sad.

Goodbye, Sunny!

In the evening, the little girl said goodbye to the Sun. It was setting below the horizon.

“Goodbye, Sunny,” said the girl.

“Goodbye, girl,” answered Sunny. “Go to bed.” I'll rest too. Early in the morning I will wake up and greet you tenderly. Wait for me at that window over there.

The girl went to bed. She dreams of blue skies.

So the Sun has risen. It touched the girl's face with a gentle ray. The girl woke up and said:

Good afternoon, Sunny! I'm so glad to see you!

How the Ant climbed over the stream

A little Ant is running along a forest path. He runs for food: after all, he has small children at home.

Suddenly a stream crossed the path. And on the other bank of the stream there are fragrant grains. How to get to them?

The Ant sees a tall stalk of rye growing on the bank of a stream. The Ant cut off the stem - after all, he has such sharp teeth, like knives. A stalk fell across the stream.

The Ant climbed over to the other side. Here are the fragrant grains. “Wait, kids, I’m already bringing you food!”

How the Swallow escaped

The Swallow was flying high in the sky. The predatory Kite noticed the Swallow and chased after her to eat her. It's about to overtake the Swallow. The Swallow squeaked pitifully. It was she who cried out of grief. And then she remembered that her little chicks were waiting in the nest. Naked, helpless. They can't wait for their mother.

“Who will feed you, little ones, if I die! No, the predatory Kite will not catch up with me.”

The Swallow flew like an arrow and hid in the nest. The chicks were delighted and squealed joyfully.

When the poppy opens its petals

In the evening the poppy flower closed its petals. The poppy sleeps all night. The day has already come, the sun has already risen, but she still sleeps, does not open her petals.

Suddenly a furry bumblebee flew out from behind the apple tree. It flies and buzzes.

The flower heard that the bumblebee was approaching and opened its petals. A bumblebee flew in and sat between the petals. The poppy flower rejoices. After all, now there will be a full box of poppy seeds. That is why the poppy did not open its petals for so long. She was waiting for the bumblebee.

Who was the rowan waiting for?

The leaves fell off the rowan tree. Only clusters of red fruits remained. They hang like beads. Beautiful, but bitter and tart. Whatever bird flies in, tastes it - it's bitter - and then flies on.

One morning a beautiful song rang over the rowan tree, as if a silver string had begun to play. Amazing crested birds have arrived. These are waxwings. They flew from the distant North. That's who the mountain ash was waiting for! She joyfully caressed the tufted guests with her red berries. And none of the birds knew that the rowan berries had become sweet.

People say: from the frost. No, not from the cold, but from grief. After all, the mountain ash waited for so long for its dear guests, it was sad, grieving, thinking that they would not arrive. And the berries became sweet from grief.

Snowflake and droplet

Alenka was running on the ice. Snowflakes were falling. It was as if they were floating in the air. One snowflake landed on Alenka's sleeve. Alenka looks at the fluffy snowflake. A six-pointed star, so beautiful and shiny. It’s as if a fairy-tale master carved it out of a silver plate.

Alenka tilted her face towards the snowflake. He looks and admires her. And suddenly a miracle happened: a snowflake became a drop of water.

Crucian carp in the aquarium

Petrik has a small aquarium at home. Goldfish live there. Petrik feeds them.

One day Petrik went to the pond. I caught a small carp in a bowl. He brought it home and put it in the aquarium. He thinks that the crucian carp will have a good time there.

Petrik gives food to the fish. Goldfish eat, but crucian carp don't. He huddles in a corner at the very bottom and sits there.

Why don’t you eat, crucian carp? - asks Petrik.

“Let me out into the pond,” the crucian carp asks, “otherwise I will die here.”

Petrik released the crucian carp into the pond.

Flower and snow

It was in winter.

First-grader Vera was sledding. Returning home, she found a broken twig near a lilac bush.

Vera took the twig and brought it home. She poured water into a jug and put a sprig of lilac in it.

A few days later the buds bloomed and green leaves appeared.

One day Vera looked at a green twig and clasped her hands in joy. A purple flower bloomed between the leaves.

The girl put a jug with a green sprig on the window.

It seemed to her that the twig was looking at the snow carpet with fear.

Vera looked carefully and carefully at the flower, and then at the snow and became sad.

How can a bumblebee fly out?

A yellow, furry bumblebee flew into the classroom. He flew around the classroom for a long time, and then flew to the window. He hit the glass, cried, but couldn’t fly out.

When the children arrived at school, a bumblebee was quietly crawling on the glass. Sometimes he tried to take off, but he no longer had the strength.

A bumblebee crawls on the glass. Nobody pays attention to the poor bumblebee. Only the smallest girl, Nina, looks at him intently and intently.

Nina wants to go up to the bumblebee, pick it up, put it in her palm, lift it to the open window and release it.

Nina can't wait for a break.

If only time would pass faster.

If only the bell rang faster.

Butterfly and flower

Someone threw a red flower into the water. A white butterfly flew over a pond and saw a red flower. She sat on him, sitting, moving her wings. The flower floats and the butterfly floats.

A swallow flew over the water and was very surprised:

What it is? How did a butterfly learn to swim?

The swallow touched the water with its wing. The water stirred, the flower trembled, the butterfly swayed.

It's fun for her to swim on the pond!

Everyone in the forest is singing

In the spring we went to the forest.

The sun rose, a light breeze blew, and all the trees in the forest began to sing.

Everyone sang their own song.

The birch tree sang a tender song. Listening to her, I wanted to go up to the fair-haired beauty and hug her.

The oak sang a courageous song. When we listened to the oak tree's song, we wanted to be strong and brave.

The willow tree that bent over the pond sang a thoughtful song. Listening to the willow song, we thought that autumn would come and the leaves would fall off the trees.

Rowan sang an alarming song. From this song the thought came to us about a dark night and a stormy thunderstorm, from which a thin mountain ash bends, hoping for the protection of the earth.

These are the songs we heard in the forest.

How poor they are...

It had not yet dawned, the morning dawn had not yet risen, and father woke up Seryozha and said:

Let's go to the field. Let's listen to the lark's song.

Seryozha quickly gets up, gets dressed, and they go to the field. The sky in the east turns pale, turns blue, then pink, the stars fade. From somewhere in a distant field a gray lump rises and rushes into the heights. Suddenly a gray lump flares up like a light among the azure, and at that moment father and son hear amazing music. It’s as if someone stretched a silver string over a field, and a fiery bird, touching it with its wings, scatters magical sounds over the field.

Seryozha held his breath. It occurred to him: if we were asleep, would the lark still sing?

“Tattoo,” the boy whispered quietly, “and those who are sleeping now don’t hear this music?”

“They don’t hear,” the father answered in a whisper.

How poor they are...

Why is the titmouse crying?

A husband and wife lived in a house on the edge of the village. They had two children - a boy Misha and a girl Olya. Misha is ten years old, and Olya is nine. A tall, branchy poplar grew near the house.

“Let’s make a swing on the poplar,” said Misha.

Oh, how good it will be to swing! - Olya was delighted.

Misha climbed up the poplar and tied a rope to the branches.

Misha and Olya stood on the swing and let's swing.

Children are swinging, and a titmouse flies around them and sings, sings.

Misha says:

The titmouse is also having fun because we are swinging.

Olya looked at the poplar trunk and saw a hollow, and in the hollow there was a nest, and in the nest there were small chicks.

The titmouse is not happy, but crying,” said Olya.

Why is she crying? - Misha was surprised.

“Think why,” Olya answered.

Misha jumped off the swing, looked at the titmouse’s nest and thought: why is she crying?

White canvases

It was in autumn. The dawns were shining. The forest stood quietly. The birds fell asleep. Just before dawn, Grandmother Morozikha came to the forest. She brought white linens and spread them out on the green grass. The clearings became white, even the forest became lighter. The gray owl looked at the white canvases, thought that it was already morning, and hid under a twig.

The sky in the east turned red. The sun has risen. Where did the white canvases go? There are no canvases. Silver drops of dew glitter on the grass. Where does Grandma Morozikha get so many white canvases? Will she bring them the next night? And who weaves them - white linens?

How does a hamster prepare for winter?

A gray hamster lives in a deep hole. His fur coat is soft and fluffy. The hamster works from morning to evening, preparing for winter. He runs from the hole into the field, looks for spikelets, threshes grain from them, and hides it in his mouth. It has grain sacs behind its cheeks. He will bring the grain into the hole and pour it out of the bags. Runs onto the field again. People left few spikelets; it is difficult for a hamster to prepare food.

The hamster filled the pantry full of grain. Now winter is not scary either.

Crake and Swallow

Autumn has come. Milky mists swirl. The ground is freezing. The water is cooling. The blue sky is getting colder. The Swallow flies to warmer regions. Left behind the swallow wedge and is catching up. She sat down to rest in the meadows. The Swallow sees: Crake is walking through the meadows. He travels slowly, not in a hurry.

Swallow asks:

Where are you going, Crake?

To warm regions, - the bird answers.

Swallow didn't believe it. Arrived in warmer climes. A week later, Crake came.

Don’t be surprised, Swallow,” says Crake. “I walked day and night.”

Sergey and Matvey

Two young men came to the flowering meadow - Sergei and Matvey.

What a beauty!” whispered Sergei. - Look, it’s like someone wove pink, red, white, blue flowers on the green carpet.

Indeed, the grass is lush,” said Matvey. “Let a cow come here and by the evening there will be two buckets of milk.”

And the bees ring like a harp,” Sergei whispered, captivated by the magical music.

And they should bring the hives here... Honey, how much honey they would bring! - Matvey said excitedly.

And there are people who don’t see this beauty,” Sergei whispered.

I'll go get the cow. Yes, and I’ll bring the hives...” said Matvey and went to the village.

How the Hedgehog prepared for winter

A Hedgehog lived in the forest. He built himself a house in the hollow of an old linden tree. It's warm and dry there. Autumn has come. Yellow leaves are falling from the trees. Winter will come soon.

The Hedgehog began to prepare for winter. He went into the forest and pinched dry leaves on his needles. He brought it into his house, spread out the leaves, and it became even warmer.

The Hedgehog went into the forest again. I collected pears, apples, rose hips. He brought it to the house on needles and put it in a corner.

Once again the Hedgehog went into the forest. I found mushrooms, dried them and also put them in a corner.

It’s warm and cozy for the Hedgehog, but it’s so sad to be alone. He wanted to find a friend. I went into the forest and met a Bunny. The Bunny doesn’t want to go to the Hedgehog’s house. And the Gray Mouse doesn’t want to, and neither does the Gopher. Because they have their own holes.

Hedgehog met Cricket. The Cricket sits on a stalk, trembling from the cold.

Come live with me, Cricket!

The Cricket jumped into the Hedgehog's house - he was very happy.

Winter came. The Hedgehog tells the Cricket a fairy tale, and the Cricket sings a song to the Hedgehog.

Fox lanterns

One day the cunning Fox was returning home. She was walking through the forest. It was night. It’s dark, dark in the forest - you can’t see anything.

The fox hit her forehead against an oak tree, and it hurt her so much. So she thinks: “We need to somehow light the road in the forest.” I found a firefly stump. The firefly stump glows in the dark. The Fox took the pieces of firefly hemp and laid them out on her way. White lanterns lit up. It became visible in the forest, even Owl was surprised: “What is this? Did day come at night?"

The cunning Fox walks through the forest and smiles.

And the Bunny hid behind an oak tree and looked out.

Oak under the window

The young forester built a large stone house in the forest and planted an oak tree under the window.

The years passed, the forester’s children grew up, the oak tree grew, and the forester grew old.

And many years later, when the forester became a grandfather, the oak tree grew so large that it covered the window. It became dark in the room where the beautiful forester’s granddaughter lived.

“Cut down the oak tree, grandfather,” the granddaughter asks, “it’s dark in the room.”

“We’ll start tomorrow morning,” answered the grandfather.

Morning has come. The grandfather called his three sons and nine grandchildren, called his beautiful granddaughter and said:

We will move the house to another location.

And he went with a shovel to dig a ditch for the foundation. Behind him are three sons, nine grandchildren and a beautiful granddaughter.

Lonely Rakita

A lonely Rakita grew on the shore of the pond. The leaves on it fell off. Three bare twigs bent towards the water itself. Rakita looks into the pond, as if into a mirror, and wonders: what are these three twigs?

What are these bare twigs? - asks Rakita. - Why are you sticking out in the water?

Yes, it's you, Rakita. This is your reflection.

“Oh, what beautiful branches!” says Rakita. “I didn’t know that I was so beautiful.”

How the Bunny basked under the Moon

It's cold for Bunny in winter, especially at night. He ran out to the edge. The frost is crackling, the snow is glistening under the moon, a cold wind is blowing from the ravine. The Bunny sat down under a bush, stretched out his paws to the Moon and asked:

Moon, dear, warm me with your rays, otherwise it will be a long time to wait for the Sun.

Luna felt sorry for the Bunny, and she said:

Go through the field, through the field, I will light your way. Go straight to the big stack of straw.

The Bunny went to a stack of straw, buried himself in the straw, looked out and smiled at the Moon.

Thank you, dear Moon, now your rays are warm, warm.

Savvy glazier

Yurko came to the pond in the morning and saw a marvelous thing. The entire pond is covered with thin glass. And under the glass the water splashes. Yurko asks Tata:

Who covered the pond with glass?

Tato laughs and says:

There is such a skillful, savvy glassmaker. He came and covered the pond with one huge glass. This glazier lives far from us, in the North. And now he came to visit us.

Who is this glazier? - Yurko asked in surprise.

The lark helps the sun

There is still cold snow in the dense forest and deep ravine. A snowdrop sleeps under last year's leaf. The ice on the pond is turning blue.

As soon as the snow melted on the hillsides, streams began to flow. The earth began to smoke, and the clear sun began to shine in the blue sky.

A little girl Marinka came out of the hut and saw a gray bird in the sky. The bird sang as if it was raising a silver bell on its wings, and it trembled and trembled.

Mom, what kind of bird is singing? - Marinka asked her mother.

“Lark,” my mother answered.

Why did he arrive so early? Why does he sing so joyfully? There is still snow...

“The lark helps the sun,” my mother answered.

How does he help? - Marinka was surprised.

When the lark flies into the blue sky, it becomes warmer.

Lilac bush

A lilac bush grew near the pond. In spring the lilacs turned blue.

Whoever comes to the pond looks at the lilac color and smiles. It’s like a piece of blue sky on earth - such a lilac color.

But one day a gloomy man came to the pond. He broke several lilac branches and took them somewhere.

Young tourists went on a trip. We turned to the pond, washed, and rested. Going further, we broke many, many flowering branches.

The flowering bush near the pond is gone. And it seems the blue sky has become smaller.

People who come to the shore of the pond no longer smile. There are fewer smiles in the world.

Where were the ants hurrying?

A squirrel was sitting on a tree. She was eating a nut. Delicious - the squirrel even closed her eyes. A crumb of nut fell to the ground. Behind her was another, a third... Many crumbs fell.

And an ant ran between the blades of grass, hurrying to get food for the little ants. She knew that the watermelons were ripening in the melon patch.

Suddenly he sees crumbs falling from the tree. I tried it - it tastes good!

The ant brought the crumbs to the anthill and called the neighbors: “Let’s run, ants, for the nuts!”

The ants gathered for the journey.

The little ants eat the crumbs that their mother brought and treat their comrades. There was enough for all the children in the anthill, and there was more left.

And the ants are already under the big tree. They collected the crumbs and took them home. They will have enough food for a long time now.

Autumn outfit

When the sun begins to move lower in the sky, a grandmother with a golden braid wakes up in a dark forest. This grandmother's name is Autumn. She walks quietly through green meadows. Wherever it stops, white ice crystals remain on the grass. People say in the morning: “It’s freezing.”

Autumn comes to the garden. He touches a tree with his golden scythe, and the leaves on it turn yellow, red, orange... And people in the morning say: “Golden autumn.” And during the day, Autumn with a golden braid hides in the dark forest. Waiting for the night.

How a stream gave water to a meadow chamomile

A chamomile grew in a meadow. A yellow flower bloomed on a tall stem, like a little sun. Hot summer has arrived. The earth has dried up. The daisy bowed its yellow head: “How will I live in dry land?”

A stream gurgled nearby. I heard a flower cry. I felt sorry for the daisy stream. He ran to her, sang and played. I watered the earth, the daisy raised its yellow head and smiled.

Thank you, brook. Now I am not afraid of the scorching sun.

A blade of grass and last year's leaf

Autumn frosts hit. The green blade of grass withered and lay on the ground. And a leaf from the tree fell on her. A blade of grass lies under a leaf. A blizzard began to blow and snow fell. The blade of grass felt warm under the snow.

A blade of grass slept for a long, long time. Through her sleep she hears something singing above her, something rustling above the forest. A blade of grass wants to get up but cannot. A dry leaf won't let in. A blade of grass gathered her strength, stood up, and pierced last year’s leaf with a sharp arrow. She looked and trembled with joy: birds were singing in the trees, spring water was rustling in the ravine, and a crane was calling in the blue sky. “Yes, this is spring,” thought a blade of grass and rose even higher.

Willow was cut down

Willow grew over the pond. On quiet summer mornings she looked into the water. The leaves neither move nor whisper. And when the birds landed on the Verba, the leaves trembled. Then Verba was surprised: what kind of bird flew in?

One day a man came to the pond with an axe. He approached Verba, took aim, and struck. Chips flew. Willow trembled, even moaned. And the leaves anxiously ask one another: “What is this man doing?”

The felled willow fell. The pond is numb, the reeds are silent, the bird screams in alarm. A gray cloud covered the sun, and everything around became dull.

A felled willow lies. And the leaves whisper and ask Willow: “Why are we lying on the ground?”

Where the ax passed, Verba began to cry. Pure, transparent tears fell to the ground.

How the Bee found Lily of the Valley

A bee flew out of the hive and circled over the apiary. He hears a bell ringing somewhere far, far away. The Bee flew to the ringing of the bell. I flew into the forest. There are lilies of the valley in the clearing. Each flower is a small silver bell. In the middle is a golden hammer. The hammer hits the silver and a ringing sound is heard. You can hear it both in the steppe and in the apiary. This is what Lily of the Valley calls the Bee.

A bee landed on a flower and took the nectar.

“Thank you, Lily of the Valley,” said the Bee.

The flower was silent. He couldn't speak. He just got embarrassed and lowered his head. The bee understood: this is Lily of the Valley responding to her gratitude.

The Bee brought nectar to the babies.

And in a dream the mother's hands smell

The Ant runs, hurries home to the anthill, carrying a crumb of sweet watermelon. He opens the door and enters the house. And in the anthill there are many, many small beds. And in every crib there is an ant.

Ant found her Baby Ant in the crib. She sat down at the head, hugs and kisses. And Little Ant rejoices and in his own way, like an ant, babbles:

And I recognized you, mom. Your hands smell so sweet...

Ant's mother fed him watermelon. The little one is full and smiling. Little Ant fell asleep. Quietly, so as not to wake the baby, Ant got up. I took the rest of the watermelon and put it in a jar - a supply for the winter.

The Ant ran into the forest again. And Little Ant is lying in his crib and smiling. And in my sleep I smell my mother’s hands.

Firemane

Yure's father carved a horse from wood. Frisky, hot. The horse beats with its hooves, its fiery mane flutters.

Yura named the horse Firemane. Can't part with him. He will put it on the table and sit aside. And Yura imagines that Firemane is about to gallop.

Yura went to bed and placed his horse on the floor next to the bed. Yura was sleeping and not sleeping and suddenly he saw: Firemane raised his head, perked up and galloped, galloped.

Yura jumped up and wanted to run after Firemane, but he was already standing by the crib again. Yura leaned over to the horse and stroked his head. Firemane calmed down. Only my legs were trembling and my fiery mane was still warm.

He's just beautiful alive

A huge beautiful butterfly Swallowtail sat on a red canna flower. She sat down and moved her wings.

A boy crept up to Swallowtail and caught him. Machaon trembles, but cannot escape. The boy pinned it to a piece of paper with a large pin. The butterfly's wings drooped.

Why did you stop fluttering your wings, Swallowtail? - asks the boy.

Swallowtail is silent. The boy put a piece of paper with a dead Swallowtail on the windowsill. A few days later he looks - the porches have dried up and crumbled, ants are crawling on his abdomen.

No, he’s only living and beautiful,” said the dejected boy. “When his porch flutters on a canna flower, and not on a piece of paper.”

hot flower

It was early spring that year. In mid-April the gardens began to bloom. May has arrived:

One clear spring morning, the little girl Olya went into the garden and saw a large red rose flower. She ran to her mother and said joyfully:

Mom, the red rose has bloomed!

Mom came into the garden, looked at the red flower, and smiled. Then she looked at the sky, and her face became anxious.

A black cloud was approaching from the north. The wind blew, a cloud covered the sun, and it became colder.

Mom and Olya sat in the room and anxiously looked out the window.

The snow flew like white butterflies. Everything around turned white. The wind died down. Snowflakes fell softly to the ground, and then stopped.

Mom and Olya went to the garden. There were snow caps on the green leaves. The ground was covered with a snow-white carpet. Only the rose turned red, like a big coal. Drops of dew glistened on it.

“She’s hot, she’s not scared,” Olya said and smiled joyfully.

It's the sun!

It was a clear summer day. The teacher led the small children into the forest.

The forest was large and silent. The trees stood slender and tall, like huge candles. Thick leaves blocked out the sun. It was twilight in the forest.

The children walked and walked. It seemed that there would be no end to the forest. Something was making a quiet noise overhead.

“What’s that noise?” the children asked.

“It’s the tops of the trees talking,” answered the teacher. “They are glad that they see the sun.”

Suddenly the children stopped. On the thick trunk of a hundred-year-old oak tree they saw something light and shiny.

What is this? - the children were surprised.

“This is the sun!” answered the teacher. “Look from here, see how bright it is?”

The children, one after another, stood near the trunk of a hundred-year-old oak tree and admired the sun.

Violet and Bee

In the forest, on a green edge, a violet grew. She looked at the world with her violet eye, and smiled at the sun every morning.

And in a forest clearing, not far from the forest edge, a Bee lived in a hive.

Bee and Violet became friends. Many times a day the Bee flew to the Violet and took pollen and nectar. Violet was looking forward to her friend.

But one day a Bee flew in and saw that the Violet was sad, her petals had turned pale.

Why are you, Violet, sad? Why have your petals turned pale? Why don't you have any pollen or nectar?

“I’m dying,” Violet whispered.

What does this mean: I’m dying? - Bee was surprised.

This means that I will no longer see the sky or the sun.

Where will the sky and the sun be? - Bee was even more surprised.

They will be here, but I will be gone...

Although the Bee did not understand why Violet would not be there, she felt sad.

Lily and Moth

A lily grows on a quiet pond - a white, beautiful flower. All day long its petals bask in the sun.

Evening was approaching. The sun was setting. The sky turned purple and everything around was colored purple.

Suddenly a Moth sat on the Lily’s delicate petal.

“Let me spend the night on your petal,” the Moth asked.

Dear Moth, I would be glad to shelter you, but I can’t; At night I go underwater.

Why? - Moth was surprised.

“I have a soft bed there,” answered Lilia. “But tomorrow, as soon as the sun rises, I will get up.” Come to me, Moth.

The white Lily folded her petals and quietly sank into the depths. And the Moth flew to the shore.

In the morning, as soon as the sun rose, Lily got out of bed and opened her petals. She was waiting for the Moth. But he didn't fly. She waited for him all day, but the Moth was not there. He arrived in the evening, when the sun was setting below the horizon; and the whole world turned purple again. And Lily said through tears:

I've been waiting for you all day. And now I need to go under water.

The moth flapped its wings and flew to the shore. And Lily looked at the darkening sky for a long time. And her heart sank in pain.

How Squirrel Saved Woodpecker

In the middle of winter it got warmer, it started to rain, and then the frost hit again. The trees were covered with ice, the cones on the trees were frozen. The Woodpecker has nothing to eat: no matter how much he knocks on the ice, he won’t reach the bark. No matter how much it hits the cone with its beak, the grains do not come out.

The Woodpecker sat on a spruce and cried. Hot tears fall on the snow and freeze.

The Squirrel saw from the nest - the Woodpecker was crying. Jump, jump, galloped to the Woodpecker.

Why are you, Woodpecker, crying?

There’s nothing to eat, Squirrel...

Squirrel felt sorry for Woodpecker. She brought out a large fir cone from the hollow. I placed it between the trunk and the branch. The Woodpecker sat down near the pine cone and began to thrash with its beak.

And Squirrel sits near the hollow and rejoices. And the squirrels in the hollow rejoice. And the sun rejoices.

Smells like apples

Quiet autumn day. Bumblebees are buzzing in the apple orchard. They flew to an apple that had fallen from a tree and was lying on the ground. Sweet juice flows from the apple. Bumblebees stuck around the apple. The sun has set. And the garden smells of apples warmed by the sun. Somewhere a cricket began to sing. Suddenly an apple fell from the apple tree to the ground - bang... The cricket fell silent. A frightened bird flew by. Somewhere beyond the forest, a star lit up in the night sky. The cricket began to sing again.

A month has already floated across the sky, and the apples still smell like the hot sun.

Sunflowers during a thunderstorm

Heavy black clouds covered the sun. It became dark and gloomy in the field. The forest stands black and silent, as if warily waiting for something. The yellow wheat field has turned gray. The alarmed lark fell from the sky onto the field and fell silent.

Only the field of blooming sunflowers is burning and flaming. It’s as if light is shining from them, and it’s not so gloomy above the ground. The solar fire glows in the flowers, reminding that the sun is behind the clouds. Lightning will break the cloud, the blue sky will appear. The field will laugh joyfully again.

Lilac grove in a ravine

There is an old ravine in the middle of the steppe. The slopes of the ravine are overgrown with grass. And at the bottom - what is it that turns blue? We look from a distance at the bottom of the ravine and see an azure-blue river meandering through. How clean the water is - like heaven! I would like to approach her quickly.

We go down to the bottom of the ravine. What is it? This is not a river, but lilac bushes. Someone planted a lot of lilac bushes at the bottom of the ravine. They have grown and taken root. The lilacs have bloomed, and from a distance it seems like a small river.

Shepherd Oak

There is a lonely oak tree at the edge of the forest. Strong, stocky. Old, like a grandfather shepherd. He probably grew up at the edge of the forest so that he could see how his brothers grew up in the forest.

On a summer day, a thunderstorm thundered over the forest. A fiery arrow hit the oak tree. The branches shook. The top caught fire. It was raining, and the oak was burning, burning... The top was burnt. The forest became sad: who will be my shepherd now?

But the oak did not die. A year later, the young shoots turned green where the branches had burned. The old oak tree was covered with curly leaves. But the top was dry. Storks were flying from a warm region. We saw a dry top. They sat down and made a nest. The old oak tree was happy. Now he is not alone. When the sun sets behind the horizon, the stork stands on one leg in the nest and looks somewhere far, far away. Where the sun went down. He's the one watching to see if there's a thunderstorm. The stork stands calmly. And the oak sighs calmly. It rustles with green leaves and falls asleep.

How the Nightingale gives water to her babies

The Nightingale has three chicks in the nest. All day long Nightingale brings them food - bugs, flies, spiders. The nightingales have eaten and are sleeping. And at night, already before dawn, they ask you to drink. The Nightingale flies into the grove. There is pure, pure dew on the leaves. The Nightingale finds the purest drop of dew, takes it in her beak and flies to the nest, bringing it to her children to drink. Places a drop on a leaf. Nightingales drink water. And at this time the sun rises. The Nightingale flies again for insects.

Green Spit and Red Pantry

Grandma put a carrot seed in the ground. A warm spring rain began to fall. The seed has sprouted. A red root went into the ground, and a green arrow reached towards the sun. Both the root and the stem grow and grow.

It rains, the earth drinks water. The green arrow turned into a curly braid. And the root keeps getting fatter and fatter. Soon it became like a stalk, and then like a small barrel - round, red. No matter how much it rains, the red root never gets enough. Green Braid once asks:

What is there under me, in the ground? No matter how much it rains, you can’t get drunk.

And from underground the answer is heard:

I am the Red Pantry. I have lots and lots of sugar.

“Is that so?” Green Braid was surprised. “It’s no coincidence that children admire me, Green Braid.” If they pull the braid, they will get to the sweet Pantry.

Frost and Chamomile

The autumn frost came on a clear moonlit night. He walked up to the rose bush and breathed in the cold. Pink petals fell to the ground. The leaves curled up.

The frost has gone through the meadow. Where I passed, the grass turned yellow. He walked up to the green maple tree, breathed - the leaves turned yellow. I sat down to rest under a rowan tree - the leaves turned crimson, like the sky at sunset before a windy day.

Frost walked for a long time through the gardens and fields. But I forgot to approach the small Chamomile flower. She stands near the road, stretches her white petals to the sun. He looks at the poplar and wonders: why did the leaves on the poplar turn yellow?

The sun has risen. Caresses the white Chamomile with its rays.

And she smiles.

Morning lightning

One by one, the stars go out in the sky. The blue sky at sunrise turned blue, and then a pink stripe rose from the horizon and spread across the entire sky. At these moments everything turned pink - both the water in the pond and the drops of dew on the grass. And the fog that poured into the valley was also pink; a lark flew high into the sky and whined and sang. The sun has already illuminated his small wings. And the wings turned pink. Soon, soon the sun will emerge from the horizon. The lark sings: I can already see the sun!

Bee music

From morning to evening, bee music rings in the apiary.

You close your eyes and hear as if a string is ringing. Where is this string? Maybe in the hives? Maybe bees are sitting there and playing some unusual instrument? After all, music rings everywhere - near the hives, in the garden, and in the blooming buckwheat. The whole world is singing. Both the blue sky and the sun - everything sings.

Or maybe thin strings in flowers? Maybe the sun pulled them between the petals? A bee will fly to a flower, sit between the petals and play on those small strings with its small paws.

spring wind

The maple slept all winter. Through the drowsiness, he heard the howl of a snowstorm and the alarming cry of a black raven. The cold wind shook the trunk and bent the branches to the ground.

But one sunny morning the maple feels something warm and affectionate touching it. It was a spring wind.

“It’s enough to sleep,” the warm spring wind whispered, “wake up, spring is coming.”

Where is it, spring? - asked the maple tree.

I flew from afar, from the shores of the southern sea. Spring comes through the fields, covering the earth with flowers. And swallows carry colorful ribbons on their wings.

This is what the spring wind told the maple.

The maple sighed, straightened its shoulders, opened its green buds - it is waiting for the red spring.

Flute and Wind

In the garden the Musician played the Flute. Birds, trees, and flowers listened to his wonderful song. Even the Wind lay down under a bush and listened in amazement to the playing of the Flute. The musician played about the sun in the blue sky, about a white cloud, about a gray bird - a lark and about happy children's eyes.

The song fell silent. The Musician put the Flute on the bench and went into the house. The Wind rose from under the bush, flew up to the Flute and blew with all its might.

The flute hummed like autumn weather. The wind blew even stronger, but the flute did not play, but hummed and hummed.

“Why is this so?” thinks the Wind. “After all, I can easily uproot an oak tree and throw off the roof of a house. Why doesn’t the Flute obey me - doesn’t play?”

How the River got angry with the Rain

The River became proud: “Look how wide and deep I am, how green my banks are. And the sun is reflected in me, like in a mirror. And the trees are green and the sky is blue.”

Suddenly the sky was covered with clouds, and a gray rain began to fall. A day goes by, two, three. The river became gray, the banks became gray. The whole world turned gray. The River got angry:

How long will you squelch, unfortunate Rain?! Because of you I became ugly.

The rain says:

If it weren’t for me, little gray one, you wouldn’t be wide and full of water.

That’s how we shouldn’t forget where we come from.

Curious Woodpecker

Dyatlikha had four chicks in her nest. One of them is so restless. He looks out of the nest, he wants to know everything:

What's behind the nest?

You grow up, fly, and see what’s behind the nest.

But the restless Woodpecker did not want to listen to his mother, leaned out of the nest and fell to the ground. Sits in the grass and cries.

The mother flew to the chick. “How can I save you, naughty son? Sit on my back, grab the feathers with your beak and hold on tight.” The Woodpecker sat on his mother's back and grabbed the feathers with his beak. The mother flew and carried her child. She brought it to the nest and asked:

Will you stick your head out of the nest?

“I won’t,” said the Woodpecker, crying, and raised his head to look out of the nest.

No one can kill a song!

In the Land of Green Meadows there lived a cheerful folk-singer. He grew bread and sang songs. Everyone had a small pipe.

But then the Life Eater, the Hater of Joy, came from somewhere to the Land of Green Meadows. As soon as someone starts singing or playing the pipe, he sneaks up from behind, grabs the song and puts it in his mouth. That's why they called him the Life Eater. Where he passed, the songs died.

All the songs were swallowed by the Animal Eater. There is only one pipe left in the Land of Green Meadows. The little boy buried it in the ground, saying in a whisper:

Keep quiet, and then you and I will defeat the Eater.

Everything is silent in the Land of Green Meadows. The Flayer rejoices - the Hater of Joy. And the sun faded...

Suddenly, where the boy buried the pipe, the wheat turned green and began to spike. The ears of corn began to sing like a pipe. The whole earth sings, the sky sings, the whole Land of Green Meadows sings. The people rejoiced, cut out new pipes and began to play again.

And the Life Eater, the Hater of Joy, lay in the sun, having eaten too much of songs. Hearing everyone sing, he burst with anger.

How the sparrows waited for the sun

The Sparrow sits with her chicks in the nest. The sun has risen. It appeared over the horizon - big, red. Children ask:

What is this, mom?

“This is the sun,” Sparrow answers. “When it rises, the day comes.” Bugs crawl out of their holes.

How good it is, honey! - the chicks chirped.

The sparrow flew out of the nest and brought worms. The children ate and asked again: “Fly for the worms, because the sun is shining.”

The Sparrow flew again for the insects. She brought it, the chicks swallowed it and asked again. All day long, while the sun was shining, Sparrow flew for food.

Night has come. The chicks fell asleep. And before dawn they woke up and asked:

Mom, fly for the bugs.

And mom answers:

The sun has not yet risen.

The children have been waiting for the sun for a long time. Finally it appeared over the horizon. And mom immediately flew off to get the worms.

Near the pond

The hot July day has passed. The sun is setting. We are sitting on the shore of a pond. The water is still, like a mirror. It reflected the blue sky. You look into the water and see the sun. So it touched the pond, and instantly the water flared up and became a river of fire. The blazing circle of the sun sinks deeper and deeper into the water. And the pond is on fire, blazing. It hid, the sun set, and the fiery river suddenly went out. The mirror turned pale blue.

It was getting dark outside and the stars were twinkling in the sky. The water in the pond turned blue. The stars were already twinkling in the depths of the pond.

There is an old, old willow tree over the pond. She bent over the water - not a leaf rustled, not a twig swayed. The willow looks at itself in the water and grieves: the hot summer will pass, the leaves will fall off, black clouds will approach.

Don't be sad, willow! The pond will freeze and you will be covered with snow. And you will wait for spring.

Saved the Frogs

It was a rainy spring. A large puddle appeared on the street. Petrik, a third grade student, saw small tadpoles swimming in a puddle.

“Where did they come from?” - he thought.

After the rains came a hot summer. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky. The puddle dried up quickly. There is already quite a bit of water left. One day Petrik saw about two dozen young frogs gathered in a small puddle that had not yet dried up. They were small, small.

“The little frogs are hot,” thought Petrik. “But what will happen when the puddle is completely dry?” They will die."

Petrik felt sorry for the frog. And he decided to save them. He went home, took a bucket, collected the little frogs in the bucket and took them to the pond. Released into the water. The little frogs swam.

“Now they won’t die,” Petrik rejoiced.

Autumn Oak

At the edge of the forest stands an old, old Oak tree. He sees branchy lindens, thick birch barks, and singing maples. He sees a wide field, and there is a tractor plowing the field.

All the trees have already dropped their leaves to the ground. One Oak tree stands at the edge of the forest in its colorful decoration. Proud of crimson, yellow, red leaves. The Woodpecker sat on the Oak and asked:

Oak, why don't you take off your outfit? Winter is already behind the mountains, snow beyond the seas.

And Oak answers:

I don't want to part with my clothes. Let winter look at my outfit.

So winter has come from the distant mountains. She covered the ground with a white carpet. Oak stands in his festive attire - even winter was at first surprised, and then admired his lush and colorful outfit.

Who lit the candles on the chestnut trees?

Little Marinka and her mother went into the forest. It was May, everything was green. Marinka looked at the green branches of the chestnut trees. Her eyes lit up with joy.

Look, mom,” says the girl, “the candles are burning on the chestnut trees.” Who lit them?

“We’ll come in the morning and see,” Mom smiled.

Early in the morning, in the cold dew, mother and Marinka came to the forest. Little Marinka looks at the green crown of chestnuts. He sees a squirrel jumping. Oh, but it was the squirrel who lit the candles on the chestnut trees! And who gave her the light? Sun. It rose up and handed the squirrel a hot spark. She lit the candles on the chestnuts.

Unusual Hunter

Grandfather Maxim lives in our village. Everyone talks about him: grandfather is a hunter. As soon as the hunt for hares or ducks begins, the grandfather goes into the forest every day with a gun. He leaves the house early in the morning and returns in the evening.

But what an unusual hunter this is! Grandfather Maxim never brings home either a hare or a duck. Comes with an empty bag. One day Grandfather Maxim brought home a little bunny. I found him under a bush. The bunny had a broken leg. Grandfather made a splint from two branches and bandaged the leg. A week later, the leg grew together, and the grandfather took the bunny to the field.

Why is grandfather Maxim such a loser?

One day the children followed their grandfather; they wanted to see how he hunted. They see: grandfather put his gun under a bush, and he walks through the forest and lays out hay for hares under the bushes.

The children understood why grandfather Maxim was such an unusual hunter.

Drops of Dew on a Flower

Red poppy blooms. Dew fell at night. A Flower woke up in the morning and saw Drops of Dew on its petals.

Droplets answer:

We are born from the warm night wind. We are Dew Drops.

Flower was surprised. He looks to see what the Dew Drops will do. And they sit on the petals. The sun rose, and in each Droplet a little sun also lit up.

The sun was rising above the earth. The droplets of Dew became smaller and smaller. So, one after another, they began to disappear.

Where are you running away from me? - Flower was upset.

To the sun, to the sun! - answered the Dew Drops.

A bee flew into the classroom

It was a warm, sunny autumn. In the third class the windows are open. It's quiet in the class. The teacher called Natasha to the board. She should write a sentence about autumn rain. To spell the word “autumn” correctly.

Suddenly everyone heard a bee buzzing. She flew into the classroom and began flying around the classroom. We put our hands down, held our breath and began to watch the bee. She flew up to the table, then to the wall. And it was as if I didn’t see any open windows. We wanted to say: “Why don’t you fly to the window?” But we were afraid to say a word so as not to scare the bee.

So she circled around the table and flew out the window. We breathed a sigh of relief. The sun was shining in the courtyard. Natasha smiled near the board and wrote: “Autumn sun.”

Field and Meadow

Field and Meadow have lived nearby for a long time. From early spring to late autumn, people come to the field. He plows the ground, sows, pulls out weeds, harvests, plows again. He rejoices when the Field gives birth to eared wheat.

And grass grows in the Meadow. In spring, flowers bloom and bees fly. From spring to late autumn, cows and sheep graze. The meadow turns green from spring to autumn.

Polya asks Lug once:

Tell me, Meadow, why doesn’t anyone plow you or sow you, but you turn green from spring to autumn?

Lug answers:

Spring water gives me water. She gives me strength.

Field says:

And I am growing green because human labor sows me.

sun flower

On a high stem there is a large flower with golden petals. He looks like the sun. That is why the flower is called Sunflower. The Sunflower sleeps at night, tilting its golden petals. But as soon as the morning dawn rises, the petals tremble. This is the Sunflower waiting for the sun to rise. Finally, the sun appeared over the horizon. The sunflower turns its golden head towards him and looks, looks at the red circle of fire. The Sunflower smiles at the sun and rejoices. Greetings the sun, says:

Hello, sunshine, I've been waiting for you for so long at night.

The sun rises higher and higher, floating across the sky. And the Sunflower turns its golden head after him. Now it is already setting beyond the horizon, and the Sunflower smiles at its golden rays for the last time. The sun has set.

The Sunflower turns its head to where the sun will rise tomorrow. The golden flower sleeps and dreams of the morning dawn.

How we found a nest in the forest

On a warm spring day we went into the forest. We got tired on the way and sat down under the trees to rest. We are sitting near a bush. Suddenly Olya quietly whispers:

Look, in the depths of the bush there is a nest!

We saw nearby, very close, a small nest. And the bird sits in the nest: a small, gray bird. He looks at us with red eyes, as if asking: “Oh, get away from me, don’t come close to my nest.”

We couldn't take our eyes off the little bird. And then they quietly stood up and moved away from the bush. We went into the forest thickets and sat down far from the nest. Our souls became lighter: we did not scare the bird. She sits in the nest and thanks us.

Spring day in the forest

A green snowdrop broke through last year's dry leaf. Sharp as an arrow. I straightened out the leaves. Between them two blue eyes trembled - two flowers. We looked at the flowers around. What did they see?

A large red circle, like a ball of fire.

“What is this?” asked Blue Eyes.

“This is the sun,” Bumblebee answered them.

Then Blue Eyes saw tall trees, a blue sky, a crane wedge in the sky.

The sun rose higher and higher, and now it was already in the middle of the sky. Then it began to descend to the ground and changed color.

Why did this sun turn red? - asked Blue Eyes.

This is how it says goodbye to the earth,” the Wasp told them.

The sun hid. It got dark.

Why did it get dark?” Blue Eyes asked in fear. “We’re scared.”

“Don’t be afraid,” said little Komarik. “It’s the end of the day.” Sleep. The night will pass and day will come again.

Morning in the apiary

On a sunny spring morning, a bee flew out of the hive. She circled over the apiary and flew up. He looks - something is turning white on the ground. The Bee descended. And this apple tree is blooming. The Bee found the most fragrant flower, sat on its petals and drinks the sweet juice. I got drunk myself and also got some for my kids. She got up and flew again. He flies over a meadow and suddenly sees: there are many yellow flowers on the green carpet. Bee came down. A dandelion blooms in front of her. The flowers are large and so fragrant. The Bee found the most fragrant flower. She sat on the petals. I collected a lot, a lot of honey.

The Bee returned to the apiary. I met my girlfriend. I told her about the apple tree and the dandelion. The bees took the honey to the hive, poured it into small bowls and flew off again.

And the sun was shining over the whole world. It warmed the apple tree, the green meadow, and the pond. And the bees sang joyfully because the sun was shining.

Evening dusk

When the sun sets, evening twilight begins. Everything that surrounds us begins to live its own wonderful, fabulous life.

Far, far away in the steppe there is a mound. As soon as the steppe is covered with evening twilight, it is no longer a mound. This is a small island. He stands in the middle of the sea. Wheat waves caress the shore of a small island.

Near the outskirts of the village there are three haystacks. In the evening twilight these are no longer haystacks, but large ships with purple sails. They sailed in the vast ocean and finally arrived at a village.

And the green forest is no longer a forest, but frozen waves. Green sea waves. They only appear to be trees.

From a deep ravine, darkness spread across the steppe, across the village, throughout the world.

Spring rain

It was a warm spring day. The Ant ran out of the anthill and ran towards the tall poplar along her path. She ran to the poplar and climbed up the trunk. There are small sweet droplets on the poplar leaves. The Ant climbed out onto the leaf, took the sweet drop in her paws, and put it on her back. She was just about to return home when she suddenly heard thunder. Large drops of warm spring rain are falling. The Ant was frightened: “Will the rain really wash away the sweet drop? What will I bring to my children?” The Ant hid under the bark. Sits and listens. And the rain is noisy, noisy.

Finally the rain stopped. Ant looked out and saw: the sun was shining. She crawled out of a secluded place and climbed down from the tree. I found my path and returned home. And there the little ants were waiting for her. Ant gave the children a sweet drop of poplar juice. I divided it among all the children, and there was still some left for myself.

Oriole nest

The oriole has motley colorful plumage. When you look at an oriole, you remember a rainbow: in its outfit there are red, orange, yellow, and bluish feathers.

An oriole made a nest in the thicket, on a thorn bush. Brought out the chicks. I flew to warmer climes for the winter.

The winter was cold. Someone cut down the thorn bush.

In the spring, the oriole arrives from warm regions, but there are no thorn bushes. An oriole flew over the place where the bushes grew. There were thickets, but now the weeds are growing. The oriole felt sad. The bird sat on a dry branch that remained from a thorn bush and sang sadly and sadly. She was the one who cried.

Where will the oriole build its nest now?

Willow - like a girl with golden braids

There is a weeping willow over the pond. She tilted her green branches and looks into the water. The wind is dying - the branches are swaying, like a girl’s braids.

A small bird made a nest near the trunk itself. As soon as she flew out of her warm nest, her green braids trembled. It was the willow tree that listened to the birdsong.

Autumn came. The cold wind gilded the willow branches. The girl became golden-braided. And the bird was gone. Where did she go? She flew to warm lands - far, far across the sea. In the spring she will greet you, and the willow will stop being sad. The braids will turn green again, early in the morning a happy girl will wake up. And the bird will also be happy, because it is at home, in its homeland. After all, the Motherland is the most precious thing for us. There is nothing more expensive than the Motherland.

And now the golden-braided girl is sad. Quiet over the pond. A golden leaf fell and floated somewhere far, far away. Willow sighed.

Forest in spring

The forest woke up after a long winter sleep. Buds opened on hazel and birch bark, maple and linden. Small bright green leaves reached towards the warm sun. They are fragrant and sticky, spring leaves. A drop of dew falls on a small leaf and trembles, trembles.

There is no rustling in the branches, but a quiet noise. These are twigs swaying, one leaf wants to touch the other, but cannot. The twigs ring like a magical forest pipe. A woodpecker is knocking on a tree trunk somewhere, an oriole is singing.

And what is that ringing in the depths of the forest? We walk, listening to the quiet ringing. In a deep ravine we see a stream. He's the one calling. We came out to the edge - a wide field stretched out in front of us. And above the field and above the forest there is a blue spring sky. And a white cloud.

Only the oak tree is sleeping. What are you waiting for, oak tree? Probably the first thunderstorm. She will wake you up from your sleep.

Autumn maple

We went into the forest to look at the autumn decoration of the trees. We stopped near a tall maple tree. We sat down. What beauty opened before us! The maple stands in a bright, colorful decoration, and the leaves do not tremble or whisper.

Look, children: the maple is sleeping. And he dreams of everything he saw from spring to autumn. Here is a yellow leaf - like a dandelion flower. In the spring, the maple tree was enchanted and amazed by the beauty of the dandelion flower. I remember this beauty. I fell asleep, remembering the dandelion - the leaf turned yellow.

And there, you see, the leaf is like the morning dawn - pink and tender. And this one is like the evening glow before a windy day.

You see, but on this branch the leaf is bright and beautiful, like the wing of an oriole. Probably, an oriole once sat here, and now the maple dreamed of its wing.

We held our breath and looked at the beauty. Everyone fell silent, as if they were afraid to disturb the magical maple dream.

Willow over the pond

Little Oksanka was walking near the pond. She picked up a willow twig from the bank and stuck it into the damp ground. And she went home. Soon Oksanka’s parents left for the city. The girl went to school there.

Ten years have passed. Oksanka arrived in her native village. She was already a tall girl with a black braid. Oksanka came to the shore of the pond again. I saw a tall, branchy willow bending over the water. Oksanka was surprised:

Verba, where did you come from?

“You planted me with a small twig,” answered Verba.

How big you have become,” said Oksanka. “I didn’t even recognize you.”

“And I recognized you,” Verba whispered gratefully.

How autumn begins

Autumn is the daughter of Santa Claus. The eldest daughter, because he also has a younger daughter - Vesna. Autumn's braids are decorated with wheat ears and red viburnum berries. Autumn walks along meadows and banks. Wherever he breathes, there will be a breath of cold. Autumn loves to sit on the shore of the pond at night. And in the morning a gray fog rises over the water and does not disperse for a long time. This is how Autumn begins.

Birds are afraid of Autumn. As soon as the swallows see her, they fly in and whisper anxiously about something. And the cranes fly high into the sky and coo anxiously.

Autumn loves to go into gardens. If he touches an apple tree, the apples turn yellow.

And woodpeckers rejoice when they meet Autumn: they scream loudly, fly from place to place, and look for food in the trees.

Today is a warm, sunny day. The sun is low - shining, but not very warm. The eldest daughter of Santa Claus sat down under a haystack, unbraided her braid, and warmed herself. Sings a song about silver webs.

Ants and pumpkin seed

Ants found a pumpkin seed in the garden. Fragrant, tasty, but very heavy. You need to bring the grain to the anthill, is it possible to leave such wealth? And the anthill is far, far away, in the forest, behind high mountains and wide valleys. One ant barely lifted a pumpkin seed onto its back. His friends ran after him - the whole ant family. The ant got tired, put down the grain, and another ant immediately picked it up.

So they took turns carrying and carrying the pumpkin seed - through high mountains and wide valleys. When the sun was setting, they brought the grain to the anthill. They brought it - and again to the garden. Maybe there is still the same grain there?

Dew drop

Early in the morning a drop of dew woke up on a rose flower. “How did I end up here? - thinks Drop. - In the evening I was high in the sky. How did I get to earth?

And she wanted to go to heaven again.

The sun has warmed up. The Drop evaporated and rose high, high into the blue sky, towards the Sun itself. There are thousands of other drops. They gathered into a black cloud and covered the Sun.

Why did you close me off from people? - Sunny got angry. And it sent a fiery arrow at the cloud. A fiery arrow struck and thunder roared. The black cloud got scared and crumbled. Rain is coming. A droplet fell to the ground.

Thank you, Droplet,” said the Earth. “I missed you so much.”

Evening dawn

The sun has set behind the horizon. Where is it, what does it do when it’s night?

The fiery disk touched the horizon. The sun has already disappeared behind the mountain. And the sky is ablaze, burning. Why is this so?

Here's why. The Sun has a garden where he rests at night. There is a large lake in that garden. Not the water in that lake, but molten gold. Because the Sun is also made of molten gold. So the Sun lies down to rest in the lake of fire. Straightens his mighty shoulders. It will stir and agitate the water in the lake. Fiery splashes fly and crumble into golden rain. The blue sky lights up with a scarlet dawn. The evening scarlet dawn burns until the Sun calms down.

Grandfather Autumn

Grandfather Autumn lives in the dark forest. He sleeps on dry leaves and listens sensitively to the singing of birds. As soon as he hears the sad song of the cranes - kurly-kurly, he gets up and says:

It's my time. The cranes fly away to a warm region.

Grandfather Autumn comes out of the forest, gray-haired, in a gray cloak. Wherever it passes, the leaves turn yellow and fall to the ground. He goes out to the edge of the forest, sits down, leans against an oak tree and quietly sings something. This is not a song, but an autumn wind... When he sings, his beard grows and flutters in the wind. Now she is already stretched out in the meadow. The meadow became gray.

Autumn fog, people say.

They have no idea that this is the beard of Grandfather Autumn.

Wolfberry bush

Leaves fell from the trees and the grass faded. The bare, transparent forest is chilly and cold. The wind blows through it. You can't hear the cheerful chatter of the children. There is nothing to go to the forest for: there are no porcini mushrooms, no black sloe berries, no sour rose hips.

There is only one bush of wolf berries standing at the edge of the forest. Sharp green leaves, like tin leaves, and branches hung with red clusters. The bush admires itself: “That’s how beautiful I am!”

The fields and trees were covered with snow. And the bunches on the wolfberry bush are all turning red. Neither a woodpecker, nor a thrush, nor a magpie perches on the Bush.

Why don’t you try my berries, little birds? - asks the Wolf Berry Bush.

Because they are poisonous, the birds answer.

Why are they so beautiful?

Poisonous things are often beautiful.

Poultry pantry

In early autumn, the chirping of birds did not stop in the steppe. Birds flocked to the compressed field and pecked at the grains.

And at the edge of the forest stood Rowan. Red clusters of berries ripened on it. Rowan wonders why no birds fly to her.

The blackbird was flying, Rowan asked:

Drozd, why don't you want to try my berries?

Wait, Rowanushka, your berries will come in handy during the most difficult times. On your branches is our bird pantry.

Snow fell. The fields were covered with a white carpet. The grass was covered in snowdrifts. Day and night the cold wind sings its mournful song.

Early in the morning Rowan woke up to the chirping of birds. She sees that blackbirds and woodpeckers have flown to her.

“Now we need a bird’s pantry,” Drozd chirped. “Treat us, Rowanushka, with your berries.”

Sunny and Ladybug

In the autumn, Ladybug climbed under the bark of a tree. The insect is sleeping, and neither the severe frosts nor the burning winds are afraid of it. Ladybug is sleeping, and she dreams of a warm sunny day, a light cloud in the blue sky, a bright rainbow.

It was a warm sunny day in the middle of winter. Quiet in the forest, no wind. The sun warmed the black bark. It became hot for Ladybug. She woke up, yawned sweetly, and looked out from under the bark. She wanted to spread her wings and fly, but Sunny threatened her:

Don't come out, Ladybug! Hide in your warm bed. Too early for you to fly - you will die. My rays are warm, but the frost is insidious - it will kill you. There will also be snowstorms, icy winds, and bitter frosts.

Ladybug listened to good advice. I took a breath of fresh air and climbed back into my warm bed.

Swans fly away

Quiet autumn evening. The sun has set behind the mountains. The sky at sunset is purple - there will be wind tomorrow. And today it’s quiet.

Suddenly, from behind the forest, an alarming cry is heard: kurly-kurly. A flock of swans is flying high in the sky. Why do they scream so alarmingly?

It seems they are taking something away from their native land. I remembered a fairy tale that my grandmother told: when swans fly away, they sow sadness on the earth with their wings. I peer into the flying flock. The purple reflections of the evening dawn play on the thin swan wings. Is sadness purple? It is azure, lilac, like the high mounds in the steppe.

And when the swans return, what do they sow with their wings?

Joy!

How Jezhikha caressed her children

Jerzykha had two hedgehogs - round, like balls, with small needles. One day, balls of hedgehogs started rolling around looking for prey. They were rolling around the garden, rolling around the vegetable garden, and saw a Bunny. Bunny eats sweet carrots. The hedgehogs also wanted to try carrots. As soon as their little heads stuck out, the Bunny screamed:

Get out of here, you nasty, prickly creatures!

The hedgehogs came running to their mother, crying.

Why are you crying, children? - asks mom.

The bunny says that we are disgusting, prickly, the hedgehog says, crying.

The hedgehog hugged the little children and caressed them:

“Are you really prickly, my dear children,” she says. “Your hair is soft, like flax.” You are fluffy, round, like balls.

Cuckoo's grief

The cuckoo lays eggs in other people's nests. When cuckoo chicks hatch, they throw their host chicks out of the nest.

Why are you so cruel, Cuckoo? Why don’t you build your nest and hatch out your chicks? - Wind-Storm asked the Cuckoo.

Listen, Wind,” answered the Cuckoo. “It is in vain that they consider me cruel.” As soon as the forest turns green, the caterpillars crawl out of their pupae. A lot of caterpillars appear in the forest - large, furry, green, poisonous. No bird eats them, but I do. If I had not eaten these predators, the forest would have died. They would eat all the leaves of the caterpillar. I have no time to hatch chicks...

This is what the Cuckoo told Wind-Storm. She told me and became sad.

Why are you singing so pitifully?” asked Wind-Storm.

“I’m sad about my children,” answered the Cuckoo.

But you don’t feed them,” said Wind-Storm, “other birds feed them.”

“I’m saving the forest for them,” Cuckoo said quietly.

What happened to my kids?

Ten duck eggs were placed under the brood hen. She sat on them for a long time, waiting for the babies. Little yellow chicks hatched. They immediately wanted to go for a walk. The hen led them into the yard. She brought her to the dung heap, began to row and call the chicks, but they looked away. They saw a pond, ran to it, jumped into the water and swam.

The hen cackled anxiously, looked at her swimming babies, and shouted:

Come back! After all, you will drown!

But the chicks don’t seem to hear. After all, these are not chickens, but ducklings. They swam for a long time and only returned to shore in the evening. The hen waited patiently for them. After waiting, she took me home. Leads and reproaches:

How naughty you are. And who taught you to swim? Neither father nor mother swim, but you swim. I won't let you into the pond anymore.

And the ducklings squeak in response:

Mom, tomorrow we will swim together. How good it is to be in the water!

The mother hen looks at the kids and wonders: what’s wrong with my kids?

Old tree stump

A large branchy tree grew in the forest. In spring it was covered with green leaves and white flowers. Bees and bumblebees flew to the flowers. Songbirds have built their nest on a tree. Every year they returned in the spring from warm regions, found their tree and chirped cheerfully: “Good spring, tree, so we have flown to you.” The tree lived joyfully, because it had many friends.

Many years later. The tree has grown old and dried up. People came to the forest, cut down a dry tree and took it somewhere.

All that's left of the tree is a stump. From sadness and loneliness the stump was covered with gray dust. It hurt him when he remembered how bees and bumblebees flew towards him, how songbirds built a nest... The birds arrived in the spring, circled over the stump, chirped anxiously and flew away. The tree stump even cried from sadness. He really wanted someone's friendship.

Autumn has come. One day a hedgehog came running to a tree stump. He dug a hole, carries fragrant dry leaves and moss, and makes a winter bed. The old tree stump was delighted and gently hugged the hedgehog. And the hedgehog and the stump became affectionate. We became friends and told each other about our lives. The stump even became younger and bloomed with green moss. After all, now he has a friend.

Curious Poppy Seed

The grandmother was carrying ripe poppy heads from the garden.

Where are they taking us? - the Curious Seed whispered in fear in one poppy head. It stuck its tiny head out the window to look around, and fell to the ground. It screamed:

Take me, grandma...

But the grandmother was busy with her thoughts and did not pay attention to the cry of the Curious Poppy Seed.

A wonderful world opened up before him. Overhead, somewhere far away, under the clouds, the tops of huge plants rustle. And above them there are plants even higher, and there, further, they are so tall that you can’t see where they end.

The curious Poppy Seed became scared. It seemed to him that it was the only one left in the world.

It began to cry. Then she fell asleep. I saw amazing dreams: as if huge white blankets were falling from the sky to the ground...

Curious Poppy Seed woke up from the warmth. It lay on a soft feather bed. Everything around was singing. The curious Poppy Seed wanted to see: who is singing? It raised its head and was surprised to notice that instead of a head it had a green sprout. The sprout rose above the ground and divided into leaves. There were more and more leaves. The Curious Poppy Seed became a tall, branched, slender plant. A large pink flower bloomed at the very top.

All this was amazing and joyful. But the Curious Poppy Seed experienced the greatest joy when he saw another pink flower of the same kind next to him. And then I saw another and another flower. And behind them is a whole sea of ​​poppy flowers.

That means I’m not the only one in the world!” exclaimed the Curious Poppy Seed and laughed. And the sun, the blue sky, the green fields, the blue forest were laughing all around. The whole world laughed.

How a spikelet grew from a grain

The collective farmers sowed wheat all day. The tractor driver was driving the tractor, and behind the tractor was a large seeder. Evening came. It's time to go home. The tractor driver brought the seeder onto the road. I was getting ready to go home. He sees a grain of wheat lying on the seeder box. The tractor driver took the grain, put it on the field, and covered it with a lump of damp earth. Grow, grain, grow into a spikelet.

The grain sent down roots, and up - a sprout, and a green leaf turned green. In winter, the stalk was warm under the snow. And in the spring, a strong stem grew from a green sprout, and on it - a large ear. And there are a hundred grains in a spikelet. The spikelet looks around him and sees a whole sea of ​​spikelets. He felt happy and began to sing.

A tractor driver was walking through the field. He recognized his friend's spikelet and bowed low to him.

Poplars in the steppe

Three poplars grow in the steppe above the road. One tall, old and two young, flexible. My grandmother told me: once only one poplar grew here - this old, big one. He felt sad alone by the road. One day a dear traveler was walking. Sat under an old poplar tree. He asks a passerby:

Good man, cut two thin branches from me and plant them near me. Let two poplars grow next to me, I will be happy.

The kind man cut off two small branches, planted them and watered them. The branches turned green and turned into young poplars. They are watered by thick rains and swayed by the wind. The old poplar and its sons became joyful.

Three poplars rustle quietly. They are talking about something. Probably about how bad it is to live alone and how joyful it is to live together.

Olya the sorceress

Autumn and spring flowers met in the school greenhouse. Here's how it happened.

We brought autumn flowers - chrysanthemums - into the greenhouse. They bloomed - white, purple, pink. And next to them was a green shoot of lilac. New Year was approaching. It was snowing outside, the winter wind was rustling, but in the greenhouse it was cozy and quiet. One sunny winter morning the lilacs bloomed. The lilac flower opened its blue eyes, saw a white flower, a chrysanthemum, and asked in surprise:

You are an autumn flower, chrysanthemum. Why have you blossomed now?

Chrysanthemum says:

But you are a spring flower. Why are you blooming now, it’s bitterly cold outside?

I looked at the lilac flower - and it’s true: it’s winter outside.

This is all the little girl Olya,” says the chrysanthemum. “She planted us here.” If it weren't for her, we wouldn't have met.

Spring would not meet autumn.

Christmas tree for sparrows

Three days later is New Year, and Vitya is in bed. Mom put a Christmas tree in front of the bed, hung a lot of toys, sweets and apples on it. In the evening the lights on the Christmas tree came on.

The morning of the last day before the New Year has arrived. Vitya looked out the window. I saw three little sparrows. They jump from paw to paw, looking for food. Vita felt sorry for the birds.

Mom, says Vitya, “we’ll arrange a Christmas tree for the sparrows too.”

How? - Mom was surprised.

“Look how,” Vitya answered.

He stuck a spruce branch into a candy box, poured grains and crumbs.

Mom brought out a small Christmas tree and placed it in the yard.

The sparrows saw it, flew to the grains, feasted, and chirped joyfully.

What a joyful New Year it was for Vitya!

Swallow with a broken wing

After the hot summer heat, a thunderstorm thundered. It began to rain. Water flooded the Swallow's Nest, which was clinging to the wall of the old barn. The nest collapsed and the chicks fell out. They had already fledged, but did not yet know how to fly. A Swallow flies over the children and calls them under the bush.

The chicks lived under a bush for several days. The swallow brought them food. They huddled together, waiting for her.

Four kids have already learned to fly and flew away, but one still can’t fly. A swallow sits near a chick that cannot fly. His wing is broken. When he fell out of the nest, he was injured.

Until autumn, a chick with a crippled wing lived under a bush. And when the time came for the swallows to fly away to a warm region, they gathered in a large flock, sat on a bush, and for a long time an alarming squeak was heard from there.

The birds flew away to a warm region. What remained was a young swallow with a broken wing. I took it and brought it home. She clung to me trustingly. I sat her on the window. The swallow looked at the blue sky. It seemed to me that tears were trembling in her eyes.

Beautiful song of the Lark

A man walked through a wheat field. Suddenly the Lark flew up from under his feet. He rose high above the Man’s head and began to sing his wonderful song. Man imagines in this song a wondrous fairy tale about silver strings stretched from the sun to the earth. About the golden sun, which goes to rest in a fairy garden in the evening. About the rainbow - the golden bridge along which giant blacksmiths descend to earth to take iron and coal...

The Man listens to the wondrous song of the Lark and goes further and further - to where the Lark is flying, and he is flying towards the forest. Finally, seeing that the Man was already at the edge of the forest, the Lark quickly flew into the wheat and hid in it.

That's where his nest is. He ran to the nest, and the larks couldn’t wait for their mother. They are asking:

Mom, what did you sing about in your song?

About a human. I asked him: go, Man, away from my nest. Leave my chicks alone.

And did the Man like your song?

I liked it very much. He followed me to the edge of the forest.

Without the nightingale

In one village, a kindergarten was located in a small peasant hut under a thatched roof. The rooms had new tables and beds that were very comfortable for children. There were a lot of toys. The children especially liked the rider on the horse. This horseman was called a Budenovite: a red star was burning on his hat, and in his hand he raised a saber high.

There was another one that the children really liked in the garden: the nightingale. He lived in a vishnyak near the hut. In the morning, when they arrived at kindergarten, the children quietly stopped near the open window and listened to the nightingale singing. These were the happiest moments.

And so the collective farm built a large stone house for the kindergarten. One day two cars drove up to the hut. Tables, beds, bowls, spoons were placed on one, and children sat on the other with toys.

The new house was light and spacious. But when they arrived at kindergarten in the morning, the kids opened the window to listen to the nightingale’s song. Nightingale was not there.

The spacious, bright rooms became sad.

There is nothing in the field

In late autumn there was nothing in the fields - no spikelets, no stubble, no straw. Everything is collected, everything is in bins or in the yard. The winter fields turn green, the arable land turns black. The autumn wind sings in the bare trees. Gray clouds float low above the ground. From them he sows and sows drizzle on the ground. The sun is not visible. You will come to the field and you will not be able to tell what time it is - day, morning or evening. The birds fell silent.

Two people are walking across the field. One of them is in city clothes. This is a city guest. He came to the village for a few days to stay. He goes plowing, looks at the empty field and says:

How empty and unwelcoming the field is. Even sad. It was another matter when the ears of corn rustled here.

An agronomist walks next to the city guest. He has been working on a local collective farm for many years. He looks at the empty field, and there is joy in his eyes. He says to his city guest:

How beautiful the field is now. It is beautiful precisely because it is empty.

Blizzard

Our hut is located on the outskirts of the village. One winter morning the snow began to fall, then the wind began to blow. The field was covered with fog. It swirled like a white waterfall. As far as the eye can see, white waves are everywhere, fast and unstoppable.

I opened the door and looked outside. Suddenly I see: a small gray bird has flown towards a stack of straw that stands nearby in a field. It was as if she didn’t fly herself, but a white wave carried her. A bird fell next to a stack. Oh, what should I do? The snow will cover the bird, the frost will freeze it.

I put on my sheepskin coat and went to the haystack. I found a bird. It was already covered with snow. I picked up the little bird, hid it under my shirt, and brought it home. He put it on the table, and she could barely breathe. I warmed up a little and raised my head. I see that the bird’s wing is bleeding. Some predator injured her.

The bird lived in our house for several weeks. The wing healed, I released her, and she flew. And in the evening she flew in, sat on the open window and chirped. This is what she probably says:

I am grateful to you. I love you, but I'm better off outside.

How many pipes there are here!

Twelve-year-old Nikolai was tending a cow. On a hot summer day, when everything around is trying to hide from the heat, Nikolai sat down under a willow tree. He saw an elderberry stick on the green grass.

“You can make a pipe out of it,” thought the boy.

He straightened the ends of the stick, cleaned the core, and dried it in the hot wind.

A quiet melody sounded. It was a song about a sunny summer day, a blue sky, the song of a lark.

Nikolai looked around him, and it seemed to him that everything had become more beautiful: the willow tree that bent over the pond, and the green meadow, and the daisy flower.

Evening was approaching. Nikolai drove the cow home. Above the pond he saw a large elderberry bush. The bush was branched, thin, flexible branches trembled from the light evening wind.

“How many pipes there are here!” - thought Nikolai. He walked up to the elderberry bush and touched a smooth, flexible branch. It seemed to him that the branch began to sing and play.

The boy stood over the pond, listening to magical music.

Piece of summer

The five-year-old girl Larisa got up early, at dawn, and went to the garden. Mom said that it was time to say goodbye to autumn: snow would soon fall on the ground and a blizzard would swirl. At night, Santa Claus will walk under the window, breathing icy cold, which will freeze the windows.

The garden was empty and quiet. The leaves have long fallen from the trees. The wind shook the bare branches.

Dry leaves lay under the trees and rustled quietly underfoot.

Suddenly, among the gray leaves, Larisa saw a large pink apple. It must have fallen recently, because it was whole and fresh.

The girl was happy. She picked up the apple, looked around her and felt that the garden had become brighter and more comfortable.

Larisa went home with an apple in her hands. She put the pink apple on the table and said to her mother:

This is a piece of summer. Let it lie here until spring.

Mom smiled.

From that day on, the apple remained on the table. Big, pink, fresh, as if fresh from the tree.

It's frosty and blizzard outside, but it's lying on the table. Whoever comes into the house will look at the apple and smile.

Oak on the road

From north to south, between two large cities, people began to build a road. People decided to build a road that was wide and level, strong and beautiful.

Construction of the road has begun. The workers built a high earthen embankment, lined it with stones, and filled it with asphalt. The road passed through steppes and meadows, along river banks.

One day construction workers came to the field. There was a small bush growing here. The engineer showed where to lay the future road, and the workers hammered small pegs into the ground.

Suddenly the workers stopped and laid pegs on the ground. There was a tall oak tree where the road should lie. Thick, strong, powerful - like a steppe sentry.

An engineer approached the workers. He didn't say a word to the workers.

The workers were also silent.

The engineer looked at the road plan for a long time, then turned his gaze to the oak tree and sighed.

The workers also sighed heavily.

The plan cannot be changed,” said the engineer.

You can’t cut down oak either,” the workers said.

The engineer pulled out a peg, walked about a hundred meters from the oak tree and hammered it into the ground.

Now no one will judge us,” he said.

Several years have passed. A wide asphalt road runs from north to south. Smooth as an arrow. But in one place it bent like a horseshoe. People traveling by bus smile joyfully and say:

Those people who built this road have a noble heart.

Swallows say goodbye to their native side

For many years swallows lived under the roof of the hut. In the spring they flew from a warm region, hatched chicks, and in the fall they flew to warm countries.

The father, mother and girl Alenka lived in the hut. She was looking forward to that warm spring day when the swallows would fly. It was a real holiday for Alenka. In the summer, the girl loved to watch the swallows feed their chicks and go to bed.

And in the fall, when the swallows flew away, Alenka felt sad. It was as if she were being separated from dear friends.

A few days before they flew away, the swallows gathered in a small flock, sat on the telegraph wire near the yard and sat there for a long time. It seemed to Alenka that the swallows were sad. She listened to their anxious chirping and thought: “Why do they sit for a long time?”

Mom, why do the swallows gather on the wire before flying away and chirp for a long, long time?

They say goodbye to their native land. After all, the road to warmer climes is long and dangerous.

Alenka approached a flock of swallows that were sitting on a wire. She wanted the swallows to say goodbye to her too.

Evil Teddy Bear or good one?

This was during the Great Patriotic War. Twelve-year-old Pavlik was herding calves. Then all the children, even little boys and girls, worked in the fields, because their fathers were at the front, and their mothers could not cope with the work themselves.

Pavlik had forty-five calves in his herd. All the heifers and bulls were calm and affectionate. Only one bull - his name was Little Bear - was very angry and pugnacious. Often he bowed his head and pushed Pavlik. The boy was afraid of the Little Bear.

On a quiet June day, the postman brought a funeral notice. Pavlik's father died in battle. The mother began to cry, the little sister began to cry, and Pavlik began to cry. Crying, he drove the calves to pasture.

Pavlik sat down under a birch tree, bent over and cried. Suddenly he hears someone affectionately touching his shoulder. “Who is this?” - Pavlik thought with surprise. “There’s no one in the pasture.” He looked around and saw: Little Bear was standing next to him. She tilted her head and rubbed against his shoulder.

Pavlik stroked the bull. The little bear lay down next to him and put his head on the boy’s lap.

The larks have arrived

When the first larks appear in the spring sky, mothers bake little larks from wheat dough.

The mother baked the chick and Seryozha. Seryozha planted the wheat bird on the open window. The spring sun is shining brightly, the warm wind is singing in the green willow. A lark sits, looking at the sky with its black eye. And it seems to Seryozha: a bird is moving its wings and is about to fly into the sky.

Night has come. Seryozha fell asleep. And the lark keeps looking and looking at the sky. Seryozha dreamed that the lark became cold, and he took him to his bed to warm up. Or maybe this really happened.

In the morning, opening his eyes, Seryozha immediately looked at the windowsill. The window is open, but there is no skylark. Seryozha ran to the window, looked into the blue morning sky and screamed:

Mom, our lark has flown into the sky! Here he is singing.

Mom looked at Seryozha and asked:

Did you take him to your bed?

I took it for one minute in the middle of the night. He was cold. I warmed him up...

“That means he flew away in the morning,” my mother answered with a smile.

Boy and Lily of the Valley Bell

Spring came. A green arrow appeared from the ground. It grew quickly and split into two leaves. The leaves have become large. A small sprout appeared between them. He stood up, bent down to one leaf and suddenly early in the morning it blossomed like a silver bell. It was the Lily of the Valley Bell.

Early in the morning, a little boy saw the Lily of the Valley Bell. He was struck by the beauty of the flower. He could not take his eyes off Lily of the Valley. He extended his hand to pick a flower.

The Flower whispers to the Boy:

Boy, why do you want to rip me off?

I really like you. “You are very beautiful,” the boy answers.

“Okay,” said the Lily of the Valley Bell and sighed quietly. “Pick it, but just before you pick it, tell me how beautiful I am.”

The boy looked at the Lily of the Valley Bell. The flower was beautiful. It looked like the morning sky and the azure water of a pond, and something else amazingly beautiful. The boy felt all this, but could not say.

He stood at the Lily of the Valley Bell, enchanted by the beauty of the flower. He stood and was silent.

“Grow up, Bell,” the boy whispered quietly.

Girl and Chamomile

On a clear sunny morning, a little girl went out to play on the green lawn. Suddenly she heard someone crying... She listened and realized: the crying was coming from under a stone that lay at the end of the lawn. The stone is small but very hard. The Girl bent down to the stone and asked:

Who's crying under the stone?

It’s me, Chamomile,” a quiet, weak voice was heard from under the stone. “Free me, Girl, the stone is crushing me.”

The Girl threw away the stone and saw the delicate stem of the Chamomile.

Thank you, Girl,” said Chamomile, sighing with all her breasts. “You freed me from under the oppression of stone.”

How did you get here, under the stone?

The oppression of the stone deceived me,” said Chamomile. “I was a little chamomile seed.” In autumn I was looking for a warm corner. The oppression of stone sheltered me and promised to protect me from cold and heat. And when I wanted to see the sun, he almost ran over me. I want to be yours, Girl.

“Okay, be mine,” the Girl agreed.

The girl and Chamomile became friends. Every morning the Girl came to Chamomile, and they greeted the Sun together.

How good it is for me to be yours, Girl,” Chamomile often said.

What if you grew up in the forest or by the road? If you were a draw?

“I would die of grief,” said Chamomile quietly. “But I know that no one’s flowers exist.” They are always someone else's. Here is that Poppy Bell - he is friends with the Sun. But that little Forget-me-not flower is a friend of the Spring wind. No, the flower could not live for anyone.

Let there be both the Nightingale and the Beetle

The Nightingale sang in the garden. His song was beautiful. He knew that his song was loved, and therefore he looked with pride at the blooming garden, at the bright blue sky, at the little Girl who was sitting in the garden and listening to his song.

And next to the Nightingale flew a large horned Beetle. He flew and buzzed. The Nightingale interrupted his song and said with annoyance to the Beetle:

Stop your buzzing. You don't let me sing. No one needs your buzzing, and in general it would be better if you, Bug, did not exist at all.

The beetle answered with dignity:

No, Nightingale, without me, Bug, the world is also impossible, just as without you, Nightingale.

That’s wisdom!” Nightingale laughed. “So people need you too?” Let's ask the Girl, she will tell you who people need and who they don't need.

The Nightingale and the Beetle flew to the Girl and asked:

Tell me, Girl, who should be left in the world - the Nightingale or the Beetle?

Let there be both the Nightingale and the Beetle,” answered the girl. And after thinking, she added: “How is it possible without the Beetle?”

Girl and Titmouse

Cold winter has arrived.

The little girl Natasha hung a feeder for Titmouse on the apple tree and brought fried hemp seeds every day. The titmouse was waiting for the girl. Natasha smiled joyfully, Titmouse sang a song to her and pecked seeds.

In the spring, Titmouse said to the girl:

Now don't bring me food. I'll find something to eat myself. Goodbye - see you winter!

Goodbye, Titmouse.

Winter has come again. Everything was covered with snow. The Titmouse flew to the feeder, and there was also snow in the feeder.

Titmouse became anxious. She asks the apple tree:

Yablonka, tell me why Natasha isn’t there? Has she forgotten about me?

No, she didn't forget. She is ill.

Sinichka's soul became heavy. She sat on a branch and thought: “I’ll fly to the girl. We need to do something to make her happy. Bring her a gift. But where will I get the gift? There’s snow, snow, snow all around.”

And then Sinichka decided to bring Natasha a song. She flew to her house, flew through the window, sat down by Natasha’s sick bed and began to sing.

Natasha felt better.

purple flower

In the middle of the night a rosebud opened. Delicate purple petals spread out. A new flower was born. It was still not very beautiful, the petals were not yet completely straightened, and one remained a little crumpled.

The flower looked at the stars twinkling in the sky, shuddered quietly and whispered:

It's already dawn. We must appear before the sun in all its beauty. The whole world will look at us, at our purple petals.

The petals fluttered. The crumpled petal straightened out. A drop of dew fell on the purple fabric, trembled and also turned purple.

The flower straightened up, the petals fluttered, the drop trembled and began to sparkle with purple tints.

Look, said the Flower to the petals, even the sky in the east is turning purple. This is from our beauty. The whole world will be purple.

Having said this, the Flower froze in anticipation.

But the purple sky paled, became scarlet, then pink-blue.

The rose flower looked around in surprise. Suddenly I saw a green tree and a white candle on it.

Who are you? - asked the Flower.

I'm a chestnut. Chestnut Flower.

But why aren't you purple? Why are you white, the sky blue, and the tree green?

If everything in the world were the same, there would be no beauty, answered the Chestnut Flower.

Horse and rider

The Sculptor lived in a small house. He knew how to carve people and animals, fabulous birds and even flowers with thin transparent petals from wood.

A boy and his mother lived next to the Sculptor. His mother was a coal miner. She burned charcoal from wood, sold it at the market and lived from it.

The boy came to the Sculptor’s workshop, sat on a bench and watched how life and beauty were born from wood.

One day, a large log was brought from the forest to the Sculptor. Sawed into two parts. One part was brought to the workshop, and the other was thrown into a dump in the yard, near the coal miner's house.

The Sculptor worked for many days. The boy saw a horse born from a tree. He looked as if he were alive. He rushed forward, but an invisible rider held him back.

“Where is the rider?” asked the Boy.

The rider remained in the second half of the tree,” answered the Sculptor, and his hands trembled. The sculptor was old and weak in body, many days of work exhausted him.

The boy ran to his mother. He wanted to tell her: “Mom, take the second half of the log to the Sculptor’s workshop, there is a rider in it.”

But the second half of the log was long gone. Mom cut the tree and burned it for charcoal.

Why did you, mother, burn the rider? - asked the dejected Boy.

The mother looked at her son in bewilderment.

Ox and Titmouse

At night, the pond was covered with thin, fragile ice - just like it is now. At dawn, the ice began to sparkle with a rainbow sparkle: do you see, children, how the colors of dawn shimmer? The ice became now scarlet, now pink, now red, now purple. So it lit up like a sea of ​​fire. The sun appeared over the horizon, and the ice turned crimson.

A titmouse was sitting on a willow tree. She admired the play of the morning dawn on the ice. The titmouse sang her simple song about fragile, tender, subtle beauty. Her song was joyful and a little sad: the sun will rise, melt the ice, and all the charm will disappear.

“I’m small, my claws are soft as feathers, but I can’t sit on this magic mirror,” Titmouse told the world. “Yes, this is a mirror in which the whole world is reflected.” Look at this beauty! Is it possible to sleep at this time?

And at that time Ox was standing on the shore. He heard Titmouse's song and was touched. If he had not been Vol, he would have had tears of emotion. But he was Vol. He wanted to take a closer look at the beauty that Titmouse sang about. He approached the very edge of the ice, the ice crackled, the magic mirror crumbled, and turbidity rose from the bottom.

Where is this beauty? - Ox mumbled and, having drunk water, wandered to the opposite bank.

Apple tree and fence

A man planted an apple tree in the yard. The apple tree grows for a year or two. The first flowers appeared on the Apple tree, the first fruits began to bear. And the Man - the owner of the Apple Tree - was evil, greedy. He was afraid that one of the people walking along the road would pick an apple. He put up a fence. I fenced off the Apple Tree from the road.

Two more years passed. The Apple Tree grew even higher, stretched its branches higher than the fence, and bent over the road.

The evil man began to build a fence higher. Apple tree asks:

Why are you blocking me out? After all, people walk along the road and rejoice: what a beautiful apple tree.

The man replied:

But you are my Apple Tree.

The apple tree cannot understand. She looks at the blue sky, at the bright sun and asks:

Whose sun is it? Whose sky is it?

The man could not answer.

Heap of garbage

At the end of the school yard, near the fence, there was a pile of garbage. At first it was a small trash bin, then it became a real trash bin and finally turned into a big pile of garbage.

The big pile was no longer growing, but it was already big. They threw papers here and raked up dry leaves.

Everyone saw the pile of garbage, but no one paid attention to it. Everyone thought: the garbage needs to be thrown away somewhere; Probably a heap is needed because there is garbage.

But then one spring, talkative children ran out of the classroom into the schoolyard. They dug a hole, planted a rose bush, and watered it. Every day they came to their bush, watered it and rejoiced: the buds opened on the bush and leaves appeared. And then a warm spring day came, when a large red flower opened on a bush. He was so beautiful that all the students and teachers came to the rose bush. While admiring the beauty of the flower, everyone suddenly noticed a pile of garbage. Everyone felt ashamed: how could there be a trash bin here?

Everyone thought: it’s my fault. If I had paid attention to the pile of garbage earlier, it would not have been here long ago.

A cart drove up to a pile of garbage. The students and teachers took shovels, threw the garbage onto a cart and took it far, far into the ravine.

The most beautiful and the ugliest

The boy was asked at school to write an essay “What do you know about the most beautiful and the ugliest”. The Boy thought for a long time and could not figure out what was the most beautiful in the world and what was the ugliest. It seemed to him that the most beautiful thing was the lilac flower. And the ugliest one seemed to be the frog. He approached Grandfather and asked: is this so? Grandfather replied: no, not like that.

The most beautiful thing, said Grandfather, is human labor. And the ugly is what wastes human labor. Go, walk the earth for a few days, and you will see both.

The boy went. Walking through the field. He sees the wheat field turning yellow, the cornfield - spikelet to spikelet.

This is the most beautiful thing,” the Boy thinks. “After all, this is human work.”

“This is the ugliest thing,” the Boy decided. “After all, she is throwing away human labor.”

Oak and Rakita

Oak and Rakita grew nearby. Every year the oak tree reaches higher and higher towards the sun. But Rakita doesn’t seem to grow, it bushes. So Oak asks:

Rakita, why are you so small? Why do you have thin twigs instead of a trunk?

Rakita paused, then answered:

When a Storm-Hurricane hits, then you too will want to become thin. I will bend down to the ground, close my eyes, and the Hurricane will spare me. And he will break off your arms and branches.

It was because of the high mountains, because of the distant seas that the Hurricane came and flew. It thunders, howls, moans, laughs. Rakita bent down to the ground, spread her braids over the grass, closed her ears and eyes, trembling with fear. And Oak straightened his chest towards the Hurricane, straightened his mighty shoulders. The Hurricane howled, roared, and groaned, and wanted to break off Oak’s arms, but the mighty Oak survived. Only one branch broke off and fell on Rakita. And Hurricane, exhausted, lay down in the valley and lies there, barely breathing.

Rakita almost died from fear. I thought that the whole Oak was broken.

Well, Dub, are you alive?

“What?” answers Oak. “It’s better to meet the Hurricane standing and fight it, but grow tall, than to bend to the ground and grow like a small vine.”

I saw you again, Sunbeam!

The fireball of the sun touched the horizon. Little Seryozha looked at the setting sun. He didn't want to part with it.

Now half of the sun has disappeared behind the horizon, now only a narrow strip of fire remains, now the last spark of solar fire flared up and went out.

Seryozha raised his head and looked at the tall poplar. Its top was illuminated with purple light.

From there you can still see the sun, thought Seryozha. “You left me, Sunbeam, but I will see you again.”

The boy quickly climbed up the poplar trunk, reached the top, and joy shone in his eyes. He again saw a narrow strip of the sun's disk above the horizon. The strip sank lower and lower, melted, and then the last spark of solar fire flared up and went out.

But still, I saw you again, Sunbeam! - exclaimed the boy.

Sergeykin flower

Today is the second to last day of classes. Four third-graders came to school early in the morning. They sat down under a tall oak tree and began to show off their parents’ gifts.

Petro showed the boys a knife. It was a wonderful knife with a copper block: a horse was drawn on the block, and a rider on it.

“It’s a good knife,” the guys said.

This is my knife,” Petro boasted again.

Maxim showed the boys a flashlight. The guys had never seen such a flashlight. An amazing bird was carved on the white handle.

“It’s a good flashlight,” the boys said.

This is my flashlight,” Maxim boasted.

Grisha showed a metal nightingale. He touched it with his lips, and the nightingale sang.

“He’s a good nightingale,” the guys said.

This is my nightingale,” Grisha boasted.

The boys waited: what is in Sergeika’s pocket?

Sergeika invited them:

Come with me.

He led the children into the bushes and showed them a flower under an acacia bush. It was a beautiful flower. Drops of dew trembled on its blue petals, and a small sun burned in each drop.

What a miracle! - said the boys.

But this is not your flower,” said Petro. “You can’t take it with you...

“Why should I take the flower with me?” Sergeika was surprised.

“You can’t change the flower for something else,” Maxim added.

Why should I change the flower for something else? - Sergeyka did not understand.

And I can say: this is my flower,” Grisha inserted.

“Will this make him worse?” asked Seryozha.

Chrysanthemum and Bulb

A Chrysanthemum grew not far from the hut. By the end of summer it bloomed a delicate pink color. Chrysanthemum admired her own beauty. Her flowers whispered: how beautiful we are...

And next to the Chrysanthemum grew the Onion. Common onion. By the end of summer, the Bulb had ripened, the green stem had withered, and the pungent smell of onions emanated from the Bulb. Chrysanthemum wrinkled her nose and said to Onion:

How unpleasant you smell! I wonder why people plant such a plant. Probably to ward off fleas.

The onion was silent. Compared to Chrysanthemum, she felt like a simpleton.

But then a Woman came out of the hut and headed towards Chrysanthemum.

Chrysanthemum held her breath. Of course, the Woman will now say: “What beautiful Chrysanthemum flowers.”

The woman approached Chrysanthemum and said:

What beautiful Chrysanthemum flowers!

The chrysanthemum melted with pleasure.

The woman bent down, pulled out the Onion and, looking at it, exclaimed:

What a beautiful Onion!

Chrysanthemum was perplexed. She thought:

“Can the Onion really be beautiful?”

Bonfire in the field

Quiet autumn day. The sun is shining, but it is no longer warm. Silver cobwebs fly in the air. Near the pond, in the meadow, cows are grazing.

Mom and I are on the field. Mom works, and I’m next to her. In the evening we sit near a large pile of potatoes. A small fire is burning. The potatoes are baking. How nice it is to sit near the fire, stir the heat with a stick and wait for the baked potato.

So the potatoes are baked. We enjoy delicious potatoes, and a crane wedge can be seen in the blue sky. The sun sets behind the forest, the field darkens, and coolness comes from the valley.

When I remember this day, my soul becomes so light...

Red-breasted Bullfinches

Where does the Fatherland begin for me? From what is most etched in my memory from my childhood days.

Among the many memories, for some reason the most vivid is about red-breasted bullfinches. Clear winter morning. The sun's rays play in the snowflakes. I look out the window. There are red bullfinches in the yard. They are looking for something in the snow, or perhaps they are playing. I look with surprise at the unprecedented birds. Why do they have a red breast? Where did they come from, these beautiful birds?

Mom says: “They came because of the sun.”

The bullfinches flew away, I remembered them for a long time, and at night I even dreamed about them.

Every time I see a red-breasted bullfinch, I remember my childhood. I remember the fairy tale about a bird that flew out from behind the sun.

Everything that we remember from the distant days of childhood is dear and close to us. After all, this is our first idea of ​​our native land.

Willow over the pond

On a clear Indian summer day, an old, hollow-leaved willow bent over the pond. Perhaps at this moment she is thinking: “Autumn will come, after autumn - winter, after winter spring will come, everything around will bloom, but I will never be green again, because I am old.”

I felt very sorry for that willow. In the spring I went to see if it had turned green? The willow did not turn green. It was dry. And next to her were two tender sprouts. Every day they became stronger and stronger. These were two young willows. They grew from the root of the old one. And it seemed to me that the old, dry willow was rejoicing: “I didn’t die, I will live forever!”

When I hear the word “Fatherland”, I remember the old willow and young shoots. Life is endless, just as the Fatherland is eternal.

Winter twilight

Quiet winter evening. The sky was covered with clouds. Snowflakes are falling. Early twilight. Mom and I are sitting near the window and looking out into the field. Before us is an endless white carpet. On it, somewhere in the distance, there is a black dot. She is moving.

What is this? - I ask my mother.

Maybe a dog, or perhaps a cunning fox. Or maybe a gray wolf,” mom answers quietly.

“A gray wolf?” I repeat in surprise. “Where could he come from here, a gray wolf?”

From a fairy tale,” says my mother. “This is not just a white field in front of us, but a fairy-tale field.”

And the forest? - I ask. - Over there, on the horizon, is that a real forest?

And the forest is also fabulous,” my mother whispers. “A dark magical forest...

I will remember those winter twilights for the rest of my life. How dear to me! After all, this is a part of my destiny and my native Fatherland.

Swallow above the window

I'm lying near the window. The glass is covered with intricate patterns. This frost painted amazing animals, flowers, blue mountains and a tall poplar. I remember this poplar: it stands, proud and slender, the wind bends it, but it does not bend...

Then the sun warmed up, the patterns blurred, and the sky turned blue. Swallows chirped under the window. They sat on the windowsill and looked into the room. They flew somewhere very quickly, brought earth in their beaks and made a nest.

I sat near the window and watched the swallows fussing around their nest. Every day the sun became more and more warm. The leaves on the apple trees rustled, and the swallows became calm and affectionate. After all, they had testicles in the nest.

And then the swallows became sensitive and careful. One day a chick looked out of the nest.

There is a swallow's nest above our window now. It's like a song from distant childhood. When I hear the word “Fatherland,” I remember the patterns on the glass and the first lump of earth in the swallow’s beak.

Crane wedge in the sky

I remember this from the time when my grandmother was still alive.

I remember before sunset we sat near the window. I looked at the blue sky and saw a crane wedge in a square of glass. Grandmother said:

Spring came. The cranes have flown to their native land.

My grandmother told me a fairy tale about a crane with a broken wing. How in the fall he was unable to fly with his comrades to warmer lands. As I asked you not to forget about him. How the little boy saved him.

I listened to the fairy tale and looked at the crane wedge. I will remember these evening hours for the rest of my life. I remembered everything: how my grandmother and I sat, and that there was a willow branch on the window... And a crane wedge in the blue sky, as if painted on a canvas.

When I hear the word “Fatherland”, I remember that crane wedge. A song is heard about a wide field and a blue sky.

How dear you are to me, crane wedge...

old cherry

A cherry tree grew not far from our hut. It’s old, old, half of the branches have already completely dried up, and half of them still bear delicious berries. One spring, only one branch bloomed. The father wanted to cut down the cherry tree, because it was dying... But the mother said:

No need to chop. Your grandfather planted this cherry tree. Let the berries grow on this branch...

The last time the cherries were born. Mom collected the seeds and planted them in the ground. Young cherries grew from those seeds. The old cherry trees have dried up, but the young ones are already blooming and bearing fruit.

Just as that cherry tree did not die, but extended its lineage, so the people never die. As long as the people live, the Fatherland lives.

Let us cherish the old and ancient. Let us cherish what our grandfathers and great-grandfathers treasured. This is the memory of the people. After all, if a people loses their memory, they will also lose their love for their native Fatherland.

Green meadow

When I hear the word “Motherland,” I remember a green meadow... It seemed to me then so big, endless, as if the whole world was a meadow. The sun was shining in the blue sky. There are yellow, blue, pink flowers on the green carpet. The bees were buzzing. Butterflies were flying - large, bright. I stand on the shore of this big green ocean, I want to embrace with my gaze all the beauty that excites me.

In childhood, the day seems endless, the meadow - boundless, the field - boundless.

Recently I went to the meadow in the spring. The same green grass, the same flowers, the same butterflies. And the sun shines in the blue, and the bees buzz. But for some reason it all seems small, like a toy.

Why is this so? Probably because childhood is the most tender sprouts of a tree whose name is the Fatherland. In childhood, the subtlest, most delicate colors of our native land are revealed to us. Remember your childhood, and you will come to the boundless ocean of your native land.

Old and New Year

On the night of New Year, two years met - Old Year, a gray-haired old man, and New Year, a young man. The Old Year hands over the keys to the New Year and says:

This is a big key to earthly riches. Pass it on to the people right away. Let them extract more coal, ore, and oil. Let them make more cars.

This is the middle key - from the grain fields. Also pass it on to people right away. Let them grow more wheat, rice, and sugar beets. Let people have more milk, meat, butter.

And this is the smallest key. He's from the weapons storeroom. Take care of this key more than your eyes. As soon as you notice that the enemy is going to attack our country, immediately give this key to the people and tell them to quickly take up arms. Don't sleep day or night.

Such orders were given by the Old Year to the New Year.

Soldier's spoon

This spoon is in our cupboard. It became our family shrine.

Mom says:

I was still little when the Nazis attacked our land. It was hard to live under the rule of the occupiers, there was nothing to eat, schools were closed.

The happy day has come for the liberation of our native land from the conquerors. There was a hot battle for our village. In this battle, not far from our hut, a young soldier was seriously wounded. He lived for several hours, I looked after him. The soldier gave me his spoon and said: “I have nothing else to leave as a souvenir. Take this spoon - it went through the whole war with me.”

This spoon lies there - an expensive relic. She reminds us of the exploits of heroes. This is a small part of our Fatherland.

After ten years

This was during the last year of the Great Patriotic War. Stepanka's father died at the front. Military friends wrote to my mother: “We are keeping your husband’s rifle.”

Stepanko tells his mother: “Ask your fighting friends, let them send daddy’s rifle! I’ll learn to shoot, and when I grow up, I’ll join the army with her.”

My mother wrote, and my military friends responded: “Grow up, son, your father’s rifle will be waiting for you.”

Years passed, Stepanko grew up and joined the army. They gave him his father's rifle. Stepanko guards the Soviet border.

At night, Stepanko stands on patrol and seems to hear his father’s voice:

Guard your Fatherland vigilantly, son!

My field, son

The school year ended, and Petya’s dad said:

And now, son, let's go to my field.

What’s yours?” Petya asked in surprise.

We drove for a long time. First by local train, then by bus. And we walked from the stop. To the forest. In front of the forest there is a wide, flat field with wheat ripening on it.

There is a high blue sky above the field, and in the sky a lark sings.

This is my field, son. Here I fought with the fascists. Here I defeated them.

Pride flared up in Petya’s soul. And he said quietly:

And your lark...

Crake and Mole

From a distant warm land, little Crake was returning to the north, to our land. This is a gray bird. In the summer, Crake breeds chicks here and flies to Africa for the winter.

It is difficult for the corncrake to fly, its wings are small. Therefore, where he flies, and where he walks. And now, having fallen to the ground, he walked and walked north. He goes to himself and quietly sings a song about the distant northern region, about a nest under a willow bush in a green meadow - there is his sweet homeland.

He walks, walks and suddenly meets the Mole. The Mole sits in a hole, sticks out his muzzle and asks Crake:

Who are you and where are you going?

I am the Crake bird, returning to my homeland from a warm region.

Crake told Mole about his distant northern homeland and the warm African land.

But why don’t you settle on this warm land forever? - asks the amazed Mole. - Why do you travel thousands of kilometers every year? After all, you wounded your legs until they bled. The Kite is waiting for you everywhere. What makes you endure these hardships? What calls you to the cold north?

“Motherland,” answered Korostel.

Father's pencil

This was during the Great Patriotic War. Little Andreika’s father fought at the front, and his mother worked in a factory.

One day the postman brought a letter to my mother. Mom opened the envelope, cried, hugged Andreika and said:

Our dad is gone...

A few days later a small package arrived from my father’s friends. That parcel contained my father's things: a spoon, a notepad and a pencil, with which he wrote letters home.

Many years later. Andreika became a slender, handsome young man. His mother accompanied him to serve in the Soviet Army and, while collecting him, gave him his father’s pencil.

Andrey put the pencil in his pocket near his heart like a priceless shrine.

From the army he wrote a letter to his mother. The first words in it were: “I swear, mommy, that I will be the same faithful son of the Fatherland as my father.”

This letter was written with my father's pencil.

Mom rejoiced and cried over her son’s letter.

Most expensive

The mother has one son. He serves in the Soviet Army. Far, far away is his service - on the shore of the cold sea. Everything there is cold: the sky, the low clouds, and the sea waves. The shore is rocky - also cold. There is not a grain of sand, not a stalk, not a blade of grass, not a tree.

The young soldier became sad and wrote to his mother: “Mom, send me something good from home. Something that is most dear to me."

The mother sent her son a pinch of her native land.

The son put the earth to his heart, and immediately the warm sun, the warm river, and the warm wheat waves began to play before his eyes. He looked at the sea and the shore. And it became warmer, more dear. He realized that here, in the far North, he was protecting what was most precious. And this is the most precious thing - our native land.

Crane and Parrot

The Crane lived on the shore of our lake. Winter was approaching. He landed on a flock of other cranes and flew far to the south. There is eternal summer, warm waters, emerald shores, azure skies. There are many amazing birds in the forests, green, blue, blue parrots. They all sing and shout joyfully.

Our crane is bored. The Green Parrot asks the Crane:

Why are you bored? Why don’t you pave the nests and hatch the cranes?

The Crane is silent. Looks north. Suddenly he perked up and listened to something. A crane cry was heard somewhere. Joyful, anxious.

The Crane took off to catch up with the other cranes.

Where are you flying to? - Parrot was surprised, - it’s cold there. You’ll live for five months and then you’ll fly here again. What's good in your cold north?

The good thing is that I was born there. There is my homeland.

Seryozha is waiting for a letter

Second-grader Seryozha has an older brother, Nikolai. He recently left to serve in the Soviet Army.

My brother sent a letter home. He writes that he is serving far in the North, near the Arctic Ocean. Guards the border of the Soviet Union. In the North, everything is not the same as at home. There are stones around. Only occasionally will a low bush flash by. And the ocean is cold and harsh. Always foaming and agitated.

A separate letter in an envelope is addressed to Seryozha. “Seryozha,” writes Nikolai, “it’s spring now, summer will come soon. Go, Seryozha, to the field, pick a spike of wheat, put it in an envelope and send it to me.”

Seryozha was surprised by his brother’s request. He stood for a long time at the edge of the wheat field. Then he picked up the spikelet and thought: why did Nikola ask to send it?

Seryozha picked a spikelet, put it in an envelope, and wrote to his brother: “I picked this spikelet in the field, right behind our hut. Write to me, brother, what’s in this spikelet? Why did you ask to send it?”

Now Seryozha is waiting for a letter from his brother.

What a beautiful Belarus!

Belarusian friends came to visit Ukrainian schoolchildren. Little Oksana became friends with the Belarusian girl Marysya. Oksana led Marysya into the field. A field of wheat stretched all the way to the horizon. Yellow field like gold. And above it is a blue sky.

Marysia stood in front of an endless wheat field, admiring its beauty.

“What a beautiful Ukraine,” she said quietly to Oksana.

Marysya told Oksana a lot about Belarus: in front of the windows of her house there is the same huge field, flax grows there, and it is blue like the sky.

Oksana listened to Marysia, but couldn’t imagine: how is it so - the field is blue, like the sky, and above the field the sky is also blue? So is all of Belarus blue?

The following spring, Oksana came to visit Marysa.

Early in the morning the girls left Marysin’s house. A blue field of blooming flax stretches all the way to the horizon. Blue field like the sky. And above it is a blue sky.

Now I know how beautiful Belarus is,” said an admiring Oksana.

A stem from the native land

The mother accompanied her son to serve in the Soviet Army. Ordered:

Serve faithfully, be a brave and honest warrior. Here's a magical stem from your native land. I picked this stem from your grandfather’s grave. He fought for Soviet power, shed blood in the struggle for the Fatherland. When things get difficult for you, put this stem to your chest.

A young soldier serves on the border. And a stem from the native land is in your pocket, near your very heart.

One dark night a young soldier stood at his post. Suddenly he noticed: someone was approaching the border. The soldier lay down behind the hillock, waited for the intruder to approach, and detained him. He tied the offender’s hands and sent him under escort to the outpost.

Suddenly, a whole detachment of armed people approached from the direction of a foreign state. They opened fire and wounded the young soldier in the leg.

The wounded border guard lay down on the ground, clutched a machine gun in his hands and opened fire on the enemy. The border violators lay down and continued to shoot.

Another bullet wounded a Soviet border guard in the shoulder. The soldier feels that his strength is leaving him, and he squeezes his machine gun even tighter and shoots even more accurately at the enemy.

The third bullet wounded the Soviet border guard in the chest. He remembered the stem from his native land and his mother’s order. He pulled a stalk out of his pocket, and at that very moment his native village appeared before him. He saw his mother's eyes, heard the smells of native herbs. The body of the Soviet soldier became stronger, his hands became even stronger, his eyes became even sharper, his hatred for the enemy became even hotter.

The Soviet soldier opened fire on the enemy again. Meanwhile, friends - border guards - came to the rescue.

After all, beyond the sea is a foreign land

The Owner - the Grain Grower - has a large fertile field. Every year he sowed wheat on it. The wheat ripens, the Grain-Grower mows it, and the Crane flies to the stubble and collects the ears. The Crane says “thank you” to the Grain Grower for the delicious wheat ears.

But a difficult year has come. There was no rain the whole summer. As soon as the wheat had thrown out the ear, it withered.

The Crane flies to the field, and the Grain-Grower sits above the withered stems.

What are you going to do now, Grain-grower? - asks the Crane.

“I will plow the fields and sow wheat,” answered the Grain-Grower.

The crane doesn't believe it. But a man actually plows a field and sows wheat.

Winter has passed, spring has come. The field has turned green. And again the Grain-grower experienced great grief. Again, not a single drop of rain fell on the ground for the whole summer. As soon as the wheat had thrown out the ear, it withered.

The Crane flies to the field, and the Grain-Grower sits above the dry stems.

What will you do now, Grain-grower? - asks the Crane, just like last year.

“I will plow the fields and sow wheat,” answered the Grain-Grower.

Why are you wasting your energy and ruining the grain? - says the Crane. - Bake bread from wheat and eat, otherwise you will die of hunger. And come with me overseas, there is fertile land and there is no drought.

“We won’t go anywhere,” said the Grain-grower.

“We won’t go anywhere,” the children said.

“We won’t go anywhere,” said the mother.

Why don't you go? After all, you have been in a drought for two years.

After all, beyond the sea is a foreign land,” said the Grain-grower.

It’s a foreign land beyond the sea,” said the mother.

“We don’t want to go to a foreign land!” the children said, crying.

rose flower

Three young pioneers walked through a field where many years ago there had been a battle with the Nazis.

The pioneers looked closely at every mound, looked into every ravine. They wanted to learn something new about the great battle for their native land.

In the valley, the young trackers came across thickets of bushes. Among the bushes they saw a flower as red as purple, came closer and stopped in amazement. It was a rose flower, and it grew from an old, rusty soldier's helmet. The pioneers took a closer look - and this was the helmet of a Soviet soldier, pierced by a bullet.

The pioneers stood with their heads bowed for a long time. The flower showed off under the rays of the spring sun. If he could speak, he would say:

Many years ago there was a hot battle here. A young Soviet soldier, Komsomol member Ivan Petrenko fired a machine gun at the Nazis. The Nazis surrounded him and wanted to take him alive. He allowed his enemies close to him and destroyed them. And when there was only one cartridge left in the belt, he turned the muzzle of the machine gun into his chest and shot him in the heart. In order not to be captured, not to recognize the shame of a prisoner.

This is what the rose would say if it could speak. But even without the story, the young pathfinders understood that the hero’s blood had been shed here.

Nightingale's nest

Our soldiers drove the Nazis out of their native land. The enemy fought back fiercely. We advanced through the forest. Fascist mines and shells exploded on our way.

Under a curly birch tree stood a young Soviet soldier, a youth of about eighteen, Nikolai Polivanov from Siberia. He placed a light machine gun against a birch tree and fired at the enemy. A small bird lived on a birch tree, its nest trembled next to the machine gun, it hid next to the nest, looking with its beady eyes either at the soldier or at the chicks peeping out of the nest.

A mine exploded somewhere nearby. A branch with a nest was knocked off by a fragment. A branch fell and the nest fell onto last year's soft leaves. A bird took off, squeaked alarmingly, circled over the chicks, and they, little ones, opened their beaks and squeaked pitifully.

The enemy was retreating, but the battle was nearby, behind the hill. Nikolai Polivanov removed the light machine gun from the tree and placed it against the birch trunk. He approached the chicks and carefully lifted the branch. Separating the nest from the branch, he attached it to another branch on the birch tree. He took a thin string out of his duffel bag, tied the nest so that it wouldn’t fall off, and also disguised it so that the bird wouldn’t notice the string.

I know this bird... If he notices that a person has taken charge of the nest, he might even give up the chicks,” Nikolai said, smiling.

When a soldier with a machine gun went to where the battle was raging, the bird, having sat by the nest, jumped into it. “I didn’t refuse...” said the young man, looking back for a moment.

And in the evening, when there was a quiet hour, the soldier talked about the birds of his native Siberia, and tenderness shone in his eyes.

He'll be back

Vasilko was three years old when the Nazis attacked our land. They robbed collective farmers and sent young men and women to hard labor in Germany.

Vasilko’s father fought at the front, the little boy lived with his mother.

Two years passed, and now the roar of cannons was heard from across the Dnieper. It was our Soviet troops who were advancing. The Germans began to retreat. Shells were exploding in the village.

Mom and Vasilko hid in the cellar. And above the cellar there is a small shed. The shell set the barn on fire. Cornflower cried.

Suddenly the boy sees a soldier with a red star on his buttonhole climbing into the cellar. He was delighted: this is our soldier.

The soldier saved Vasilko and his mother.

The battle became distant, the Soviet Army drove the Nazis further to the west.

The savior soldier said to Vasilko:

Goodbye boy. If I'm alive, we'll meet again. I will return through your village.

Victory Day has arrived. The soldiers returned home.

Cornflower waited a long time for his savior. But he wasn't there.

Many years later. Cornflower has become an adult. He had already served in the army and returned home. And his two sons are growing up. In the summer, Vasil takes both sons by the hands and goes with them to the main road.

A father and his sons sit for a long time under a poplar tree. The father of the people is watching, walking and walking along the road.

Dad, who are we waiting for? - the sons ask. The father spoke about his savior.

Maybe he will return again, the father believes.

Topic: V. Sukhomlinsky “Old Dog”.

Goal: To promote the assimilation of the idea of ​​the story: only with goodness we cultivate goodness.
Task:
- Involve children in thinking about the issue of friendship between humans and animals;
- Develop the ability to express one’s own assessments of the characters’ actions and justify thoughts;
- Teach children dialogical speech;
- Replenish vocabulary and teach coherent statements;
- Develop the ability to listen and understand your comrades, tolerance, work in groups and pairs;
- Foster a love of nature: plants, animals.
Equipment: portrait of V. Sukhomlinsky, exhibition of books about animals, drawing of a dog at the booth, hearts, handouts.

Interactive methods and techniques used when demonstrating a fragment:
- Work in pairs, groups;
- Foresight;
- Solving problematic issues;
- Different points of view;
- Dialogue.
1. Org moment

So, friends, attention -

After all, the bell rang.

Sit down more comfortably -

Let's start the lesson soon!
I. Motivation for learning activities.
Teacher's word:
- Guys, today our lesson is devoted to an important, necessary quality of a person. This quality is spoken of in the poem:

This word is serious

The main thing is important.

What it means

Very necessary for everyone.

It contains care and affection, warmth and love.

There is aspiration in him

Come to the rescue again and again.

This is quality

Lives in the hearts of many

And it doesn’t let you forget about the pain of others.

And it's more important

Than facial beauty.

Can you guess what it is?

Kindness of heart...

How do you understand these words, Kindness of heart? (kind heart)

And what kind of heart can there be (loving, big, small, cruel...)

You said a loving heart, but who can you feel love for? (to mother, grandmother, to study, to nature, to animals,..)

- “I give my heart to children” Do you know who these words belong to?

To the great teacher-writer, our old friend, Vasily Aleksandrovich Sukhomlinsky.

How do you understand this phrase? (to love, understand, take care of children)

Can a mother give her heart to her child? And the teacher?

In what works have we seen friendship between people and animals? (My faithful Chizh, Khavroshechka, Die Hard, Good Hostess)

Guys, you will find out who we are going to talk about by solving the riddle:

I'm sensitive, I'm attentive,
I am a loyal friend to people.
In rain and snow, in hail and fog,
Protects the house... (dog).
(on the board there is a drawing of a dog at the booth) Here he is, our hero.

Describe the hero, what is he like? (soft, fluffy, small, brown)

But the dog is not so easy here. I would like to offer you the story “The Old Dog” by Vasily Sukhomlinsky.

Method "Prediction".

Can you guess what we might be talking about? (about an old dog...)

Open the textbook to page and read the story to yourself.

Old Dog (V. Sukhomlinsky)

The Man had a faithful friend - a dog. For many years he guarded his master's property. Years passed, the Dog grew old and began to see poorly. And one summer day he did not recognize the owner. When he returned from the field, the dog ran out of his booth and barked as if at a stranger. The owner was surprised:
-You don’t recognize me anymore?
The dog wagged his tail guiltily. He buried his nose in his owner's leg and whined gently. He wanted to say:
- I'm sorry! I myself don’t know how it happened that I didn’t recognize you.
A few days later, the Man brought a small puppy from somewhere and placed another, small booth next to the dog’s booth.
“Live here,” he said to the puppy.
The Old Dog asked the Man:
- Why do you need another dog?

How do you feel, did your assumptions come true?

Now we will read this story aloud.

Heuristic conversation based on the story you listened to:
- What impression did the story make on you?

Were there any words you didn’t understand? (if yes) - Ask your neighbor the meaning of this word., (if the neighbor cannot help, turn to the class; to the guests)

- Who are the main characters?

Do you think they were friends or not?

- In your opinion, is this situation vital or not?

4. Vocabulary work. ---Work in pairs. -_

Choose synonyms for the words: master, dog, friend, good, barked, forgive.

Immediately agree which of you will answer.

5. Intonation of sentences.

Find the interrogative sentence in the text.
(-You don’t recognize me anymore?) With what intonation should this sentence be read? Read it.
- If a dog could talk, how would he answer? Which of you can convey the intonation of a dog? (- He wanted to say: “Forgive me”!

We say “A dog is a man’s best friend.” Have you ever heard that this is not so?

Listening to an excerpt of the song “Dogs can bite.”

Why do dogs bite? (for mistreating them)

Who is to blame for this?

What conclusion can be drawn from this? (a person and a dog can have a good, kind relationship and vice versa)

Fizminutka
"We can do this"

· Children repeat the teacher’s movements, accompanying them with the words: “I can do this too.”

Who, tell me, can, children,

Repeat these movements?

I'll raise my hands up.

I can do this too.

I'll look left and right

I can do this too.

And like a bird I will fly.

I can do this too.

I'll turn my head.

I can do this too.

And then I’ll sit down and stand up.

I can do this too.

And I won’t get tired at all.

I can do this too.

I'll jump around a little.

I can do this too.

And I'll go on foot.

I can do this too.

If necessary, I'll run.

I can do this too.

I can do anything in the world! (in unison)

Work in groups:

Instructions for working in groups.

Exercise:Working with illustrations:

Which of these pictures matches our story? Why?

Creative task:

Children, do you think the author finished his story?
The author suggests reflecting on the ending of the story and composing a dialogue:
“What did the Man say to his old dog?”

III. Summing up the work.
2. Violation of reader expectations.
Now listen to what ending the author chose. (The teacher reads to the end of the story):
- So that you don’t get bored,” said the Man and affectionately patted the old man.
A dog on the back. Then the Man turned around, sighed quietly and left. The dog could not sigh, he whined sadly. A tear rolled down from one of his eyes to the ground. And a puppy was tumbling on the grass, playing.
- I see how excited you are by this story, you are worried, it means you have a good heart.

Conversation based on the listening passage.
- Were your predictions justified or not?
- So why another dog house?
- Why did the dog whine pitifully?

What character traits did the owner have?

3. Compilation of “The Heart of Man”:

1. Problematic question:
- For what purpose did V. Sukhomlinsky write this story?

Once again I want to return to Sukhomlinsky’s phrase “I give my heart to children.”

We must remember that there are people who are ready to give their love, kindness, and care to others.

Sukhomlinsky said how a child treats plants and animals determines his attitude towards people.

Hearts don't just lie on desks.

Write your wishes to your classmates on hearts (write them and hang them on the board).

This is how we got a big heart

All your written wishes made our hearts grow bigger. A big heart is a heart where there is a lot of kindness, love, understanding,
I wish you all to have such a heart that you take care not only of yourself, but also of those around you.

V. Epigraphs for the lesson (possible options)

“A dog is a very unusual creature; she never bothers you with questions about your mood, she doesn’t care whether you are rich or poor, stupid or smart, a sinner or a saint. You are her friend. That's enough for her."

J.K.Jerome

"Those who are cruel to animals are also cruel to people. We can judge a person's character by his attitude towards animals." I. Kant

“A dog is so loyal that you don’t even believe that a person deserves such love.” Ilya Ilf.

Reading list (give to each child)
A.P. Chekhov "Kashtanka"
A.I. Kuprin "White Poodle"
E.I. Nosov "White Goose"
E. Seton-Thompson “Tales of Animals”
J. Darrell "My Family and Other Animals"
"Talking Bundle"
MM. Prishvin "Eyes of the Earth"
K.G. Paustovsky “Warm Bread”
F. Abramov "What do horses cry about"
G.N. Troepolsky "White Bim Black Ear"

For a dog - a dog's death. Sukhomlinsky Story for children to read

In the village of Kutsevolovka, Onufrievsky district, there lived a boy, Mikhail Topolya. Mikhail's mother died an hour after giving birth. The child was saved by a distant relative of the mother, Oksana. She was feeding her daughter Marina, who was born a month earlier. Now I had to feed two children. The boy grew up strong and healthy. Before he was a year old, he rose to his feet and began to walk, but Oksana could not wean him off the breast; she fed him until he was two years old. “The boy,” she justified herself, “is an orphan, but let him not know either grief or loneliness.” Oksana gave everything to him. “Like cheese rolling around in butter,” the neighbors said about Mikhail’s serene childhood, shaking their heads, “this will not lead to good.” Oksana heard from the edge of her ear about the concerns expressed by her neighbors, but they brushed them aside. The boy was her creation, she saved his life, she saw herself in him. He slept as much as he wanted, everything was allowed to him, and nothing was forbidden. There were crucian carp in the pond, Mikhailik loved fried fish with sour cream. And Oksana and Marinka went to the pond, splashed around in the water for several hours to please the “dytyna”. Autumn had already arrived, the crucian carp hid deep in the mud, and Mikhailik wouldn’t even touch a spoon unless there was a frying pan with fried crucian carp on the table. Oksana climbed into the cold water. I caught a cold and fell ill. So that there would be crucian carp on the table, Marinka took her mother’s embroidered shirt and tablecloth to the fishermen and exchanged them for fish...

It turned out that there was nothing in Mikhail’s life that he would have got with difficulty, in which a piece of his soul would have been left. In an empty heart that knows no worries, worries, worries, there can be no place for true love.

Mikhailo studied at school one day. I sat in the fourth grade for two years, had two autumn exams in the fifth and barely moved on to the sixth, and did not finish the sixth in two years. At the age of sixteen he dropped out of school. Oksana cried, reproached... “You will drive me into the grave with your school,” Mikhailo shouted. “I won’t set foot in your house again.” I know that you are not my mother. And for feeding me, I will buy you a barrel of milk.”

Stunned by the grave insult, Oksana fell ill. And Mikhailo went to live with a distant relative of his father, a forester.

A few months later the war began. When the invaders arrived, the slender, red-cheeked Mikhailo caught the eye of the policemen. The police served the fascists with dog-like loyalty and carried out the dirtiest, most shameful deeds. The sending of young people into fascist slavery began - to work in Germany. The police hunted the young people like animals. One night the Nazis sent all the police on a raid. Mikhailo ended up on the street where Oksana lived. Together with other girls, he brought Marina to the village government. Oksana was crying outside the village hall door. When Mikhailo left the hut, she spat in his eyes and called him a traitor.

“You are a partisan!” - Mikhailo shouted and ran to the officer. Oksana was grabbed and tied up. We went home with a search. Several grenades and a rifle were found in the attic.
“Where does all this come from?” - asked the officer.
The woman was silent.
“Which villager can tell where she got the weapon from?” - the officer threw into the crowd of people driven to the house of the village council.
Everyone was silent. Mikhailo, who was in a group of policemen, said:
“She is connected with the partisans. Suspicious people come to her at night.”
The old men and women stood holding their breath. They couldn’t believe it: what kind of monster do you have to be to send to death a woman who was a man’s mother: after all, she fed him.

“Well,” said the officer, “the partisans have the same end. And as a reward for serving the Reich faithfully, I give you the great honor: shoot this woman with your hand.” They say that at that moment, on the Maidan in front of the village council, it was as if the earth was groaning: a groan escaped from dozens of breasts, people could not take their eyes off the traitor. He took Oksana and his friends to the willows near the pond. People heard three dull shots, and the earth groaned again. Mikhailo Topolya returned with his friends. That same evening, the Nazis sent Marinka, who was caught along with other girls during a raid, to the station. And three days later, the news spread throughout the Dnieper villages: in the wilderness of the forest, in the Volchye tract, not far from the forester’s hut, Mikhail was found hanging from an oak branch. On the chest there is a piece of paper with the inscription: “This will happen to every traitor!”

When the villagers learned about the just retribution that befell the traitor, they sighed with relief and said: “A dog’s death is a dog’s death.”

Reading as a type of speech activity requires a special approach to assessing the quality of knowledge, skills and abilities of students in primary school.
The proposed tests are exemplary and are selected by the teacher based on the level of development of reading skills at the end of the first quarter, not only of the class as a whole, but also of each student individually, as well as taking into account the requirements of variable author’s programs.
An individual test of reading skill (reading aloud) gives the teacher a fairly complete picture of the level of development of this skill in primary schoolchildren.
Students are offered to read aloud an unfamiliar text with accessible content. The teacher, by recording errors made while reading, determining the number of unreasonable pauses, time spent on reading, and answers to questions posed, assesses the level of mastery of reading skills by students.
In grades 2, 3, 4, reading skills are monitored as “reading aloud” and “reading silently.” Large texts can be read by two or three children (in a chain). Answers to questions can be constructed in the form of conversation and dialogue.

Reading aloud skill test

2nd grade

OLD DOG

A man had a faithful friend - a Dog. Years passed. The dog got old and began to see poorly. Once on a clear summer day he did not recognize his owner. He ran out of his booth and barked as if at a stranger. The owner was surprised. Asked:
“So you don’t recognize me anymore?”
The dog wagged his tail. He whined softly. He wanted to say:
- Forgive me for not recognizing you.
A few days later the man brought a small puppy and said to the Puppy:
- Live here.
The Old Dog asked the man:
– Why do you need another dog?
“So that you don’t get bored alone,” the man said and affectionately patted the old Dog on the back.

(94 words)
(V. Sukhomlinsky)

Questions and tasks

1. Why did a faithful friend, the Dog, bark at his owner as if he were a stranger?
2. How did the person react to this?
3. What did you like about this work?

3rd grade

BATHING BEAR CUBS

Our familiar hunter was walking along the bank of a forest river and suddenly heard a loud cracking of branches. He got scared and climbed a tree.
A large brown bear and with her two cheerful bear cubs came ashore from the thicket. The bear grabbed one bear cub by the collar with her teeth and let's dip it into the river.
The cub squealed and floundered, but the mother did not let him go until she rinsed him thoroughly in the water.
Another bear cub was frightened by the cold bath and started to run away into the forest.
His mother caught up with him, gave him spanks, and then - into the water, like the first.
Finding themselves back on the ground, both cubs were very pleased with their swim: the day was hot, and they were very hot in their thick shaggy fur coats. The water refreshed them well.
After swimming, the bears disappeared into the forest again, and the hunter climbed down from the tree and went home.

(122 words)
(V. Bianchi)

Questions and tasks

1. Why did the hunter climb the tree?
2. What picture from the life of animals did the hunter manage to see in the forest?
3. Why were the cubs very happy with the bath?

4th grade

Nettle HAPPINESS

Nettle grew up on the edge of the meadow. She rose above the grass and became embarrassed. The flowers around are beautiful and fragrant, the berries are delicious. She alone is mediocre: no pleasant taste, no bright color, no sweet smell!
And suddenly Nettle hears:
- It’s not great happiness to be beautiful! Whoever sees it will pick it... - It was the white daisies that whispered.
– Do you think it’s better to be fragrant? No matter how it is! - Rosehip rustled.
– The worst thing is to be tasty! – Strawberry shook her head. - Everyone wants to eat.
- That's it! – Nettle was surprised. – It turns out that I’m the happiest here? After all, no one touches me: doesn’t sniff, doesn’t pick.
– We envy your quiet life! – the flowers and berries sang in chorus.
- How glad I am, how happy I am! - shouted the delighted Nettle. “I feel so good,” she added thoughtfully. - When I grow, they don’t pay attention, when I grow, they don’t smell them, when I dry up, they don’t remember...
And suddenly Nettle sobbed:
“It was as if I didn’t exist at all, as if I didn’t live!” To hell with such nettle happiness!
Flowers and berries listened attentively to Nettle. And they never complained about their hectic life again.

(158 words)
(N. Sladkov)

Questions and tasks

1. Why was Nettle embarrassed?
2. Why were the flowers and berries jealous of her quiet life at first?
3. Explain the reason for Nettle’s sadness.

Checking your reading level

4th grade

1. Identify the genres that can be included in the section of oral folk art.

A) Fairy tales;
B) epics;
B) fables;
D) chronicles.

2. Name the hero and genre of the work:

From somewhere in the city of Murom,
From that village and Karacharova
A remote, portly, kind fellow was leaving.
He stood at Matins in Murom,
Oh, he wanted to be in time for lunch
To the capital Kyiv city.

3. Indicate a comic genre of folk art - a phrase built on a combination of sounds that make it difficult to quickly pronounce words.

A) Tongue twister;
B) counting rhyme;
B) a riddle;
D) tease.

4. Give 1–2 examples of works of this genre.

5. How do works of oral folk art differ from original works?

6. Which writer gave the following definition of a fairy tale: “A fairy tale is a lie, but there is a hint in it: a lesson for good fellows”?

A) A.S. Pushkin;
B) G.H. Andersen;
B) P.P. Bazhov;
D) P.P. Ershov.

7. Remember 1-2 names of wise beautiful maidens from Russian folk tales.

8. Write down the names of 1-2 fairy tales about tiny people, tiny boys and girls.

9. Write the name of the fable, which includes the words: “There is time for work, and an hour for fun.”

10. Which poets’ works (2–3) would you include in the “Poetry Notebook” section?

11. What genres of works by L.N. Do you know Tolstoy?

A) Stories;
B) fables;
B) poetry;
D) fairy tales.

12. Write down the name of your favorite book. What did you like in her?

Testing the reader's ability to work with the text of a work of fiction

2nd grade

There lived an old man and he had three sons. The brothers often quarreled with each other.
The old man thinks: “As soon as I die, my sons will separate and go their separate ways, and it will be bad for everyone.”

The time has come for the old man to die. He called his sons and ordered them to bring a broom. The sons handed their father a broom.
The old man says:
- Break the broom.
The sons said:
- Is it possible to break a broom?
The old man untied the belt on the broom, and the rods fell apart.
- Break the bars! - said the old man.
The sons broke all the bars.
The old man says:
“The same thing will happen to you as with this broom.” If you live together in harmony, no trouble will overcome you. And when you disperse one by one, then you will all be lost.

(103 words)
(L.N. Tolstoy)

Questions and tasks

Read the text “Broom” by L.N. Tolstoy. Complete the tasks. Mark the statements that correspond to the content of the text read.

1. Identify the characters in the fable.

A) Old man, three sons;
B) old man, one son;
C) old man, two sons.

2. How did the brothers live among themselves?

A) They often quarreled;
B) lived together;
C) supported each other in everything.

3. What was their father concerned about? Restore the sequence of his thoughts.

A) It will be bad for everyone;
B) everyone will separate;
B) everyone will disperse.

A) Boring;
B) bad;
B) fun.

5. For what purpose did the old man ask his sons to bring him a broom?

A) Using the example of twigs in a broom, show the need for mutual support;
B) break the broom;
C) sweep the floor in the hut.

6. Think about which two expressions help better than others to understand the main idea of ​​the fable?

A) Whoever you hang out with, that’s how you’ll gain;
B) Where there is peace and harmony, there is no need for treasure;
C) Together - not burdensome, but apart - at least drop it;
D) A good example is worth a hundred words.

7. What order did the old man give to his sons?

8. What is the name for the generalized main idea in this genre?

9. What important human quality is discussed in the work?

10. Did you like the work and why?

Correct answers to tasks

3rd grade

HOW THE BADger AND THE MARTEN FOUGHT TO TRIAL

One day a badger and a marten were running along a forest path and saw a piece of meat. They ran up to their find.
- I found a piece of meat! - the badger screams.
- No, I found a piece of meat! - the marten shouts to the whole forest.
Badger his:
- I found this! There is no need to argue!
Marten own:
– I saw it first!
So they argued and argued and almost fell apart.
Then the badger said:
- Let's go to the judge. Let the judge judge us.
And the judge in this forest was a fox.
The fox listened to the badger and the marten and said:
- Give me your find here.
The debaters gave the judge a piece of meat. Lisa said:
– We need to divide this piece into two equal parts. Let the badger take one part, the marten take the other.
With these words, the fox tore the piece into two parts.
“It’s not fair,” the badger whined. - The marten has a larger piece.
“We’ll fix this problem now,” said the cunning fox and bit off a fair portion of the meat from the marten’s share.
“Now the badger has a bigger piece,” cried the marten. - This is unfair!
- It’s okay, we’ll fix this problem too! I like everything to be fair.
Having said this, the fox again bit off a piece of meat, only this time from the badger’s share. Now it turned out that the marten had a larger piece left than the badger. But the fox was not confused and took a bite from the marten.
And so she leveled the piece until there was nothing left of the find.
Apparently, what smart people say is true: greedy and unyielding people always end up at a loss.

(226 words)

Questions and tasks

Read the text “How the badger and the marten had a lawsuit.” Complete the tasks. Mark the statements that correspond to the content of the text read.

1. Where, in what place do the events described in the text take place?

A) In the meadow;
B) in the forest;
B) in the field;
D) in the village.

2. Identify the characters in the work.

A) Badger, marten, fox;
B) badger, sable, fox;
B) mink, marten, fox.

3. Why did the animals have a dispute?

A) They didn’t know how to divide the find;
B) were afraid of depriving each other;
C) found out who found the piece of meat.

A) Almost torn to pieces;
B) almost got into a big fight;
C) almost made a hole.

5. Who held court in this forest?

A) Fox;
B) bear;
B) wolf.

6. What is the definition of fox in this text?

A) cunning;
B) cheat;
B) red-haired robber.

7. What human vice does the people condemn in this work?

A) Greed;
B) cunning;
B) cowardice.

8. Think: what is in the title?

A) Main idea;
B) topic.

9. Is there a hero in this work whose behavior causes approval?

10. Write down the main idea of ​​this work.

11. Write down the title of another work, which also condemns greed.

12. Did you like this work and why?

Correct answers to tasks

	Last sentence of the text
	"The Fox and the Crane", "Two Greedy Little Bears"

4th grade

ONION – FROM SEVEN ILLNESSES

What is your mom making for lunch today? Cabbage soup made from fresh cabbage?
In cabbage soup, as in most soups, onions are added first. Let's see what look mom chose. There are different types of onions.
The slime onion looks like a tuft of thick grass.
In the spring onion, the bulb is barely noticeable, but its long leaves (they are called feathers) are green and fresh from spring to autumn.
There is a multi-tiered bow. It never blooms. Instead of flowers, small onions hang on the stem, several in a bunch, one bunch above the other. They keep up in the air without ever touching the ground.
There is an onion that changes its name three times. Its seeds are called “black onion”. From a seed as black as coal, a small onion grows. What is it called now? Onion sets. In the spring they will plant it in the garden, it will get fat and look like a turnip. What is her name now? Onion.
In the old days there were villages in Rus' where gardeners lived in every hut. The whole village grew the same vegetable for sale to visiting merchants. There were cucumber villages. Seventy-five varieties of onions were left to us as a legacy by Russian gardeners. A secret was passed on from mother to daughter, from grandmother to granddaughter.
Mom chose the onions and began to peel them. But what about her? She smiles, but there are tears in her eyes. Why?
What is an onion? A house without windows or doors, a cunningly hidden bedroom, where baby onion buds, the rudiments of future sprouts, sleep for the time being between the juicy, white scales.
The outside walls of the onion children's bedroom are also covered with scales, only dry, golden ones. The thicker this golden cover, the longer the onion will be stored, the better the children’s sleep. By cutting the onion with a knife, mom disturbed their peace.
The beast will fight with claws and teeth for its cubs. How can onions preserve their children? He has no claws or teeth. But the bow has a special, amazing weapon.
Arrows fly out of the cut onion. Mom couldn’t see them - they were invisible. But she felt them - her eyes stung.
Mom escaped with tears, her eyes remained intact. But if carriers of diseases and harmful microbes find themselves in the path of flying bow arrows, they will not be happy.
If a person chews an onion for two or three minutes, not a single harmful microbe will remain in his mouth - all of them will be killed.
Even in ancient times, people realized that onions were not only a tasty seasoning for food: they were also healing.
Scientists have proven that the volatile substances with which onions protect their babies can also protect human health.
No wonder the Russian people have a saying:
“Onion – seven diseases.”

(398 words)
(N. Nadezhdina)

Questions and tasks

Read the text “Onion - from seven ailments” by N. Nadezhdina. Complete the tasks. Mark the statements that correspond to the content of the text read.

1. Which onion looks like a bunch of thick grass?

A) Multi-tiered bow;
B) slime bow;
B) onion.

2. Which onion has green and fresh feathers from spring to autumn?

A) Multi-tiered bow;
B) onion;
B) slime bow.

3. Which onion never blooms?

A) Multi-tiered bow;
B) slime bow;
B) onion.

4. Which bow changes its name three times?

A) Slime bow;
B) onion;
B) onion.

5. How many varieties of onions did Russian gardeners leave us as a legacy?

A) 75;
B) 57;
B) 77.

6. Between which scales do baby onion buds sleep for the time being?

A) Juicy, white;
B) dry, golden.

7. What amazing weapon is onion armed with?

A) Sword;
B) arrows;
B) a sword.

8. What healing properties do bow arrows have?

A) Causes tears;
B) have a pleasant smell;
C) kill harmful microbes.

9. Explain the meaning of the word using other words illness:

A) Severe malaise, illness;
B) enemy;
C) a person who does not know how to make friends.

10. What scientific term for disease carriers did you come across in the text?

11. Using numbers, restore the correct sequence of points in the text outline.

A) Amazing weapon.
B) A cleverly hidden bedroom.
B) Such a different bow.
D) Bow with three names.

12. What is this text about?

13. Write out a sentence from the text that helps us understand what main idea the author decided to tell us.

14. If you need more scientific information about onions, which book(s) will you turn to?

15. Come up with and write down questions (3–4), the answers to which are in the text.

Correct answers to tasks

	penultimate or last sentence
	Directory, encyclopedia

One day little Fedya and his mother went to the field to dig potatoes.
“You’re eight years old,” says your mother, “it’s time to really work.” The mother digs up a bush, and Fedya selects potatoes from the hole and throws them into a bucket.
Fedya doesn't want to work. He collects the potatoes from above, but doesn’t want to dig into the ground. I left the potatoes under one bush, then another. The mother noticed such work and said:
- Aren't you ashamed? A man looks and sees everything!

Fedya looked around and was surprised:
- Where is this Man? What does he see?
- There is a Man in you, Fedya. He sees everything. He notices everything, and only you don’t always listen to what he tells you. Listen to his voice, he will tell you how you work.
- Where is he in me – Man? – Fedya is surprised.
“In your head, in your chest, in your heart,” the mother prompts.
Fedya moved to another bush and picked the potatoes that were lying on top. I was about to leave him, when suddenly it was as if someone was actually reproaching him: what are you doing, Fedya? Dig around, there are still potatoes in the ground. Fedya was surprised and looked around. There is no one, but it’s as if someone is looking at his work and shaming him.
“And in fact, after all, Man sees my work,” thought Fedya, sighed, raked up the soil near the dug up bush and found a few more potatoes.
Fedya’s soul felt lighter. He even sang a funny song.
He works for an hour, then works for another, and becomes more and more surprised. He thinks a little: “Why dig so deep, there are probably no more potatoes,” and then someone overhears his thought. And Fedya becomes ashamed. But also joyfully, oh, how joyfully. “This is a good friend – Man,” thinks Fedya.

Lazy pillow

Little Irina needs to get up early and go to kindergarten - but she doesn’t want to, oh how she doesn’t want to.
In the evening Irinka asks:
- Grandfather, why don’t you want to get up in the morning? Teach me to sleep so well that I want to get up and go to kindergarten.
“Your pillow is lazy,” says grandfather.
- What should she do to not be so lazy?
“I know the secret,” grandfather whispers. - Just when you don’t want to get up, take a pillow, take it out into the fresh air and beat it well with your fists - it won’t be lazy.
- Indeed? – Irinka was delighted. - I’ll do that tomorrow
It’s not yet light or dawn, but we need to get ready for the garden. Irinka doesn’t want to get up, but she finally needs to teach the pillow a lesson, she’s too lazy to knock it out of her.
Irinka grabbed it, quickly got dressed, took the pillow, took it out into the yard, put it on the bench, and fisted it, fisted it.
I returned home, put the pillow on the bed and let’s wash up.
The cat below meows, the wind hums behind the wall, and grandfather grins through his mustache.

Sorry kids, I'm late

It was a cold morning. Snowflakes fell. A cold wind blew from the north.
We arrived at the school at dawn. The class was warm. We took off our shoes and warmed our feet by the stove.
The bell rang. We took our seats. A minute passed, then another. There was no teacher. We sent Nina - she is the class leader: go to the teachers' room, find out why there is no teacher.
A minute later Nina returned and said:
- Ivan Petrovich fell ill. The director told us to go home.
- Hooray! - we all shouted, inexpressibly rejoicing. - Hurray!.. There will be no lessons!.. The teacher is sick.
Suddenly the door opened and Ivan Petrovich entered the class. Covered with snow, tired. We froze in surprise. They sat down with their heads bowed.
Ivan Petrovich approached the table.
“Sorry, children,” he said quietly. – I got a little sick, but still decided to go to school. I'm a little late...
He undressed right there in the classroom. He sat down at the table and looked at us.
And we were ashamed to look up...

Father and Son

There lived a mother, father and son. The son was not yet a year old when his father left his mother. He left and left secretly, without saying where he was going and why.

The mother and son were left alone. It wasn't easy for the mother. Early in the morning she took her son to the nursery, and she went to work.

The son was growing up. The mother no longer carried him, but took him not to the nursery, but to the kindergarten. The son learned that other children have not only a mother, but also a father. This discovery struck the child's soul. The little son asked his mother:

- Why do other children have fathers, but we don’t? The guys say that without a father you cannot be born... Is this true?

- Yes, you cannot be born without a father.

- So we had a father?

- Yes, we had a father. He left us...

- Why did he leave?

- He doesn’t love us, that’s why he left...

- What do you mean - he doesn’t love you? - asked the son. The mother explained this as best she could; The three-year-old boy did not understand everything, and his mother said:

— When you grow up a little, you’ll understand... Another year has passed, the second. A five-year-old son asks his mother:

- Mom, did our father love himself?

“He loved himself even less than us.” He not only did not love himself, but also did not respect himself...

- What does it mean to respect yourself?

The mother tried to explain, but the five-year-old boy could not yet understand such complex things.

A year has passed, two years have passed. A seven-year-old son asks his mother:

- Mom, what does it mean to respect yourself?

- This means leaving yourself on earth in your children. Whoever does not want to leave himself in his children does not want to be human.

- But didn’t he, father, understand this? - asked the amazed son.

- He will understand this only in old age.

When the son was 7 years old, the mother got married. Left alone with her son, the mother said to him:

- This man loves me, and I love him. If he loves you and you love him, maybe you will become his son, and he will become your father. In the meantime, don’t call him father or uncle—it’s not good. Just address him as “you.”

Mother's second husband was a kind, warm-hearted man. But the boy did not open up to him because he did not believe him. “If the person without whom I could not have been born did not become my father, then how can a stranger become a father?” - the boy thought, and these thoughts made him feel hard.

My son got sick. Days and nights he lay in oblivion, and only occasionally did consciousness return to him. One night he felt better, opened his eyes and saw his stepfather in front of him. The man held his weak hand in his hand and cried... The boy closed his eyes, he wanted these moments to last forever. A minute came, two, three. The boy's heart trembled with happiness: the man caressed his hand. He felt: the man wanted him to get well. The boy could no longer lie with his eyes closed, he opened his eyes, smiled and said:

“I’ll call you Father, okay?”

Several years passed, and a terrible grief befell the happy family: an incurable illness confined the mother to bed. She was ill for ten years, and all these years her husband and son took care of her. When the son was 23 years old, his mother died. The son got married. He himself already had a son. The stepfather became an old, weak man. His son loved him passionately and devotedly. Without him, dinner was never started in the family, not a single matter was decided without his advice.

And then one day, when the family was having dinner, someone knocked on the house. An old man came in.

- Do you recognize me?

- No, I don’t know.

- I am your father.

The son remembered everything. He replied:

- Here is my Father... And for me you are just an old man.

“But you are my blood son,” the old man pleaded. - Shelter me.

“Okay, live with us,” said the son. “But I can neither love, nor respect you, nor call you father.”

So they live in a big house, among apple and cherry trees. On warm summer days, the family sits at the table in the garden. A lively conversation and laughter can be heard. And the old man sits in his room by the window and, bowing his gray head, cries.

Mom's braid is the most beautiful

Every evening, seven-year-old Tarasik met his father returning from work. These were joyful moments: dad opened the door, Tarasik ran towards him, dad took his son in his arms. The mother smiled as she prepared dinner.

One day Tarasik, coming home from school, saw his mother sitting by the window, thoughtful and sad.

- Why are you sad, mom? - asked the alarmed Tarasik.

- Dad won't come to us anymore.

- How - he won’t come? — the child was surprised. -Where will he go?

The child couldn’t comprehend what it meant for his father not to come home...

Mom said:

- He won't live with us anymore. Well... he came today and picked up his things. He went to another woman...

- Why? - Tarasik screamed. - Why did he go to another woman?

The mother was confused. She frantically searched for what to say to her son. And she said what came to mind:

- Because my braid is gray... But this woman’s braid is not gray...

Tarasik began to cry, hugged his mother, and with his small hand stroked his mother’s black braid, in which gray hairs glistened. Then he said quietly:

- But this is your braid, mom... your braid is the most beautiful... Doesn’t dad understand this?

- He doesn’t understand, son...

Then something happened that the mother did not even think about when she said words about her gray braid. The boy found out where the woman his father had gone to lives with. He went to this woman. The woman was at home. The boy came up to her, looked carefully at her hairstyle and said: “Mom’s braid is the most beautiful... but is yours a braid?”

Then Tarasik went to his father, who worked in a car garage workshop. He asked his father to go outside. The son said to his father words that make every honest father's and mother's heart shrink from pain and indignation:

- Tatu, why did you leave your mother? She has such a beautiful braid... Mom is the kindest... the most affectionate. Now it’s so difficult for us... Dad, come back to mom.

The father stood in front of his son, bowing his head... In the evening he returned to his wife and asked for forgiveness from her and his son.

Head of the convoy

In one large Nadnipryansk village, a 92-year-old woman died - the mother of four sons, the grandmother of eleven grandchildren, the great-grandmother of twenty-two great-grandchildren. Her life was difficult. In six graves - in East Prussia, and in the Masurian swamps, and in the Carpathians, and near Berlin - there is her blood, on six soldier monuments - her last name, in each letter - her sleepless nights, joys and hopes.

The youngest, 50-year-old son, went with his grief and worries to people: help see his mother off on her last journey. There were no ready-made boards for the coffin at the lumber yard, but there were some kind people: they took off their hats, stood in silence for a minute, and sawed a large pine trunk. Take it, son, build your mother’s last house. The boards need to be transported. No car, everyone is at work. A kind person was found here too. My son stopped the first oncoming car and shared his grief. The driver postponed his trip for half an hour, loaded the boards, and drove out of the timber yard. And here something strange and wild happened. The head of the convoy, seeing his car with boards, seeing the driver helping to tie the boards with a rope behind the gate, shouted:

- What is it? Why aren't you going about your business?

The driver and the son of the deceased told the boss: don’t shout, come to your senses - a man has died. He didn’t come to his senses, didn’t apologize. He became even more furious, stamped his feet, waved his fist in front of the pale driver’s eyes, climbed onto the back of the car, threw off the boards... The driver drove off, and the son stood near the boards and cried. Because of his tears, he didn’t notice how a stranger approached him in a cart - he was returning from the creamery, he heard swearing, stopped, understood everything... He stacked the boards on the cart, touched the shoulder of his grief-stricken and insulted son, and quietly asked: “Where should we take him?”

I have known this convoy leader from a young age. Ivanko was a boy like thousands of others, he went to school, he loved to wander barefoot in puddles after the summer rain, he climbed over the fence into the neighbors’ garden - a secretly picked apple seemed tastier than the apples in his garden.

But there was something else. There were things that neighbors talked about with indignation. Ivanka’s grandmother, her father’s mother, lived with Ivanka’s parents. For some reason her daughter-in-law disliked her. The old woman settled in the closet and cooked food for herself. The boy often heard from his mother: grandmother is evil, bad... Once for the holiday, his mother prepared cold food. “Take it to your grandmother, son,” she said to the boy, “that little bowl in which we cleaned the bones...” The mother sends for brushwood for the stove: “Get some dry brushwood, Ivanko, and let the wet one remain for grandma, she doesn’t like it to be hot in the house.”

This is how the child understood that his grandmother was considered some kind of outcast...

In the summer, the grandmother asks Ivanka: go, granddaughter, to the meadow, pick me some sorrel for borscht... The boy doesn’t want to go to the meadow, he runs to the garden, picks beet tops, and brings them to his grandmother. She sees poorly, crumbles tops, cooks borscht. And Ivanko tells his comrades how he deceived his grandmother.

The boys listen to Ivanka’s story and wonder what their fathers and mothers would say to them if they did something like this. They talk about this at home, rumors spread throughout the village about an evil daughter-in-law and an unkind grandson...

Years have passed. Ivanko grew up and joined the army. This is probably fate: he went through all the hard times of war unharmed. But he did not return to his parents' house. A large power station began to be built not far from the village. Ivanko got a job in some office - he traveled all the time, transporting building materials. He quickly moved up - he became a dispatcher, then the head of a motorcade. Some people liked him: he guesses the wishes of his superiors at a glance, gets everything out of the ground.

The father died, the grandmother died, and the old mother remained. Her son settled her in a small closet in his large stone house, set up a stove: cook, mother, your own food, live quietly, don’t disturb.

Probably, at these moments, the mother remembers her instructions to Ivanka, when she sent her grandmother a cold one... Perhaps she also remembers that folk wisdom that teaches: take care of the human soul when the child lies not along, but across the crib.

Man with no name

This was at the beginning of the war. A bloody tornado scorched Ukraine with its hot breath, a fascist horde crawled from the West, our troops retreated beyond the Dnieper. On a quiet August morning, a column of enemy motorcyclists arrived on the main street of the village where this man lived. People hid in their huts. Silent children timidly looked out of the windows.

And suddenly people saw the incredible: this man came out of the hut - in an embroidered shirt, in boots polished to a shine, with bread and salt on an embroidered towel. Smiling ingratiatingly at the fascists, he brought them bread and salt and bowed. The little red-haired corporal graciously accepted the bread and salt, patted the traitor on the shoulder, treated him to a cigarette, and then took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, held it in his hand, thought, opened it, counted out half of the cigarettes and handed it over...

The children saw all this through the windows, and they told their mothers about all this. A few minutes later, the entire village learned about the shameful hospitality of their fellow countryman. Fierce hatred began to boil in their hearts, and their fists clenched. Then people began to think: who is this man, what led him on the terrible path of betrayal? They remembered the family tree from their grandfather and great-grandfather, and mentally looked back at their childhood. How can this be, after all, he is a twenty-year-old young man, it seems, and is a member of the Komsomol. But wait, what is his name? They knew the surname, the person has a parental surname, but no one knew the name. His mother, the collective farm worker Yarina, was well known. And this man was called that way from childhood: Yarina’s son. They began to think: what led the guy to betrayal? But no one could say anything definite about Yarina’s son. The neighbors called him a mama's boy. One son from father and mother, he slept until lunch, and near the bed on the table there was a jug of milk, a white roll of bread, sour cream, already carefully prepared by the mother... People from an early age taught children to work, woke them up at dawn, sent them to the field to work, and Yarina protected her little gold (that’s what she called it: my little gold, my only beloved one) from work and worries.

We also remembered this. When Yarina’s son was twelve years old, a disaster occurred in the village: ten huts burned down, ten families were left homeless. Neighbors sheltered the fire victims and shared their homes with them. I sheltered one family and Yarina, and both she and her son had to make room. But suddenly the son became capricious: “I don’t want our neighbors to live with us.” One evening I went under a stack of straw and said to my mother: “I’ll sleep here, I won’t go home. Let the neighbors get out of the shed, then I’ll come back.” Mother gave in to whim. The neighbors moved into the barn.

My son studied at school until the sixth grade, then studying became a burden to him, and his mother decided: let the child not languish behind a book, the most important thing is health. Until the age of eighteen, my son hung around with nothing to do, he already began to go to evening parties, and was drawn to the girls... We remembered how two before the war the mother of a beautiful girl came to Yarina, she came with tears: what a conversation they had, no one in I didn’t know for sure, all that became known in the village was that the black-eyed beauty stopped going out, then she lay in the hospital for a long time, the girl’s beauty disappeared, the lights in her black eyes went out. The neighbors found out that Yarina had sent “golden” somewhere to a distant farm, to her beekeeper uncle, there were rumors: Yarina’s son lives among the expanse of the steppe, eats white rolls with honey... One day Yarina got sick, asked her son to come and help housework. The son arrived, stayed at home for three days, the work seemed hard to him: carry water, chop wood, mow hay - and then went back to the farm.

How and when a son appeared in the village of Yarinin during that difficult time, no one could say. Old men and women sat in the twilight under the branchy cherry trees, talking about all this, and the thought haunted him: who was he born into? Three days passed after the village was occupied by the Nazis, and Yarina’s son was already walking down the street with a police bandage on his sleeve.

We think and guess, but it won’t make it any easier,” said 70-year-old grandfather Yukhim. -Where did such a bastard come from? From an empty soul. This man has nothing sacred in his soul. The soul did not expire in pain either for the mother or for the native land. My heart did not tremble with anxiety for the land of my grandfathers and great-grandfathers. The hands did not leave roots in their native land, they did not create anything for people, the sweat did not water the field, there are no calluses from hard and sweet labor, and thistles grew.

Terrible days have come for the mother. She saw that people despised her degeneracy and despised her too. I tried to exhort my son, reminded him of the return of Soviet power and of retribution, but the son began to threaten: you know what happens to those who do not agree with the new order. “You are no longer my son,” said the mother, left the hut, and went to her sister.

The terrible days of occupation ended; at the dawn of a November day, Soviet soldiers brought the dawn of freedom on sharp bayonets. Hot battles passed the village side by side, before Yarina’s son had time to escape with his owners. But for some reason, popular revenge in the joyful days of liberation did not affect the fascist lackey and the criminal - his fellow villagers did not have time to deal with him, and meticulous lawyers began to check every fact, not trusting rumors. Who saw how Yarina’s son participated in the execution of a partisan? Who saw how he shot Soviet people? Who can prove that it was he who sent the black-eyed beauty to hard labor in Germany? All this was not easy to prove, although everyone knew, everyone was convinced that he had committed these crimes. The investigation went on for a long time, finally they weighed what was proven, tried Yarina’s son, and sentenced him to seven years in prison.

Seven years have passed. The son returned from prison and found his mother dying. Yarina asked all relatives and the most respected old people in the village to come to her deathbed. She did not allow her son to approach the bed, she said before her death: “I curse you, you are not my son. I've changed my mind a lot over the years. It will be hard for me in the grave: your crime will fall like a stone on my chest. People, my dear fellow countrymen, listen to me, remember my words, pass them on to your children and grandchildren. Don't put this heavy stone on my chest. Don't consider this man my son. I'm not his mother. Let the day be cursed when his eyes saw the sun.”

The son stood in the middle of the hut, gloomy and imperturbable, it seemed to him that he did not care what his mother said. People held their breath, waiting: maybe he would say a word, ask his mother for forgiveness. But the son was silent. And then grandfather Yukhim said for everyone: “It will be as you ask, Yarino. We will not place a heavy stone on your chest. This man will walk the earth like a rootless dog until the end of his days. Not only will no one call him your son, but we will also forget his name.”

Grandfather Yukhim’s words turned out to be prophetic: before, rarely did anyone know the name of the traitor, everyone called him Yarina’s son, but now they have completely forgotten his name. They began to call this thirty-year-old man differently: that scoundrel; others are a man without a soul, others are a man who has nothing sacred behind his soul. He lived in his parents’ hut, no one ever came to see him, the neighbors forbade their children to come close to the hut of the “man without a name” - that’s the name all the peasants finally gave him.

He went to work on the collective farm. People avoided working with him. At one time it was difficult to find a cadre of machine operators; he asked to study to become a tractor driver, but there was no person who wanted to be alone with him and pass on his knowledge to him. I had to abandon this intention. The foreman sent him to a place where he could work alone, without communicating with other people. Once he was assigned to carry water to women working in the fields. He brought water - the women chased him away and told the foreman: “We won’t go to work if this scoundrel even once appears before our eyes.”

There are crimes for which they are never forgiven, there is loneliness that evokes neither pity nor sympathy from anyone.

Yarina's son became an outcast. The judgment of the people turned out to be immeasurably worse than prison. He tried to get married, but there was no woman or girl who would dare to join her destiny with him.

Once I had to visit that village. I was sitting in the office of the chairman of the village council. An old, decrepit man came in, he seemed to be about seventy years old. “It’s him, the man without a name,” said the chairman of the village council quietly. “He’s thirty-nine now... Let’s listen to what he has to say.”

“Send me somewhere,” the man without a name began to ask dully, with hidden pain. “I can’t live here anymore.” Send him to a nursing home or some shelter. If you don't send it, I'll hang myself. I know that I deserve people's contempt and curse. I would like to hear a kind word at least before I die. They know me here, and I hear only curses. And if someone brings a piece of bread into the yard, then it’s like pity for a dying dog. They will bury me in the ground and spit on the grave... Send me to where no one knows me. I will work as hard as I can to earn a piece of bread. Let at least someone think of me as an honest person.”

When he, overgrown and dirty, walked along a rural street, returning home, people stopped, looked at him for a long time, and shook their heads thoughtfully. And that evening, near the threshold of his parents’ hut, a man without a name found a piece of bacon and bread - people’s hearts are not made of stone...

They took pity on him and sent him to a nursing home. No one there knew about his past. They treated him like an old man who deserved the right to respect. They say that he was as happy as a child when he was asked to do something for the team: dig up a flower bed or sort through potatoes. But somehow rumors about his past reached the nursing home. People's attitude towards him immediately changed. No one said a word about this man's past, but everyone began to avoid him. Two old men who lived in the same room with him asked to go to another, and he was left alone. On a cold December night, he left unknown where, and since then no one has seen him. There was a rumor that during the spring flood the river threw out a blue corpse, so mutilated that it was impossible to determine who this man was.

The Legend of Mother's Love

The mother had an only son - dear, beloved. His mother doted on him; I collected dew drop by drop for washing, and embroidered shirts from the finest silk. The son grew up - stately, handsome. He married a girl of amazing, unprecedented beauty. He brought his young wife to his home. The young wife did not like her mother-in-law and told her husband: “Let the mother not come into the hut, let her live in the entryway.”

The son settled his mother in the hallway and forbade her to enter the hut. The mother was afraid to appear in front of her evil daughter-in-law. As soon as the daughter-in-law walked through the hallway, the mother hid under the bed.

But even this was not enough for the daughter-in-law. She says to her husband: “So that the spirit of the mother does not smell in the house. They moved her to the barn.”

The son moved his mother into the barn. Only at night did the mother come out of the dark barn. One evening a young beauty was resting under a blooming apple tree and saw her mother come out of the barn.

The wife became furious and ran to her husband: “If you want me to live with you, kill your mother, take the heart out of her chest and bring it to me.” The filial heart did not tremble; he was bewitched by the unprecedented beauty of his wife. He says to his mother: “Come on, mom, let’s swim in the river.” They go to the river along a rocky bank. The mother tripped over a stone. The son got angry: “Why are you, mom, stumbling? Why don't you look at your feet? So we will go to the river until evening.”

They came, undressed, and swam. The son and his mother went into the oak grove, broke dry branches, lit a fire, killed the mother, and took the heart out of her chest. Placed it on hot coals. A twig flared up, cracked, an ember flew, hit his son’s face, and burned him. The son screamed and covered the burned area with his palm. The mother’s heart, burning on low fire, perked up and whispered: “My dear son, are you in pain? Pluck a plantain leaf, it’s growing by the fire, apply it to the burned area, apply a mother’s heart to the plantain leaf... Then put it in the fire.”

The son began to sob, grabbed his mother’s hot heart in his palm, placed it in his torn chest, and poured hot tears over it. He realized that no one had ever loved him as passionately and devotedly as his own mother.

And so enormous and inexhaustible was the mother’s love, so deep and omnipotent was the desire of the mother’s heart to see her son joyful and carefree, that the heart came to life, the torn chest closed, the mother stood up and pressed her son’s curly head to her chest. After this, the son could not return to his beautiful wife; she became hateful to him. The mother did not return home either. The two of them went to the steppe and became two high mounds.

Filial ingratitude

Two mothers lived nearby - Maria and Christina. They worked on a collective farm and raised sons: Maria had a son, Peter, and Christina had a son, Andrei. The boys were the same age. In the autumn of 1939, the time came for Peter and Andrei to join the army. Together Maria and Christina escorted their sons to the service, together they counted how many days were left to wait for blue-eyed, blond Peter, black-eyed, with a forelock like a raven's wing, Andrei.

The war began, the enemy invader came to Ukrainian soil, for two years the mothers knew nothing about their sons, there was no long-awaited news. The native Soviet Army liberated the Ukrainian land, letters came to Christina and Mary in blue triangular envelopes, joyful hearts began to flutter - their sons were alive. The last salvos of the war have died down. In the same week, Peter and Andrey returned. Joy came to the mother's aching hearts.

But the joy was short-lived. The fates of the mothers were different, but the grief was the same. Maria fell ill, went to bed, and her legs stopped obeying her. It was difficult for Peter; not only was his mother’s illness an unexpected misfortune; One misfortune, as they say, leads to another.

A black-browed bride was waiting for Peter, and they decided to get married to celebrate. You can’t put a ban on young love, Galina became pregnant. According to the laws of folk morality, it is necessary for a son to bring a girl into his home, but here the mother is bedridden by illness. She sees how her son suffers and doesn’t sleep at night. And he says to him: “Don’t disgrace Galina, let her come into our house as your lawful wife, and what happens to me will happen.” Galina came to the house, she and Peter lived together amicably and in agreement, everything would have been fine if not for her mother’s illness.

Peter heard that there was a wonderful doctor in Kyiv. If you're lucky, you need money for the trip. Peter and Galina decided: we’ll sell the house and put our mother back on her feet. They sold it, went to live with a distant relative of their mother, and took Maria to Kyiv. They left me in the hospital. The doctor said: you need to lie down for six months, or even more.

Life became difficult for young people, but their mothers helped all the time. They sold Galina's clothes and Peter's button accordion, and put her mother back on her feet.

Maria spent not six months, but two years in the hospital. Recovered. “It was not medicine that got me out of bed,” she told people, “but great filial love.”

People in the village talked about Peter and Galina with approval and great respect. Mothers and fathers set them as examples and taught their children how to live in the world.

Let’s leave happy Maria with her happy children and grandchildren for now (it’s not for nothing that our mother-in-law calls our daughter-in-law a daughter, and our daughter-in-law mother-in-law a mother), let’s look into Christina’s hut. Her fate turned out differently. Andrey brought several suitcases of captured goods. Didn't open suitcases in my mother's house. His mother's hut became too small for him, so he decided to build a new one. I chose a place at the remote end of the village, away from the steppe. He built a brick house and covered it with zinc - a rarity in those years. Got married. The young couple lived comfortably.

And Christina’s house was falling apart. I asked my son: repair the roof. The son replied: I have enough worries of my own, think about your house yourself. The mother began to cry and covered the hut with some straw. “This is not grief yet,” thought Christina. “If only I were healthy...” But then real grief came: Andrei’s mother fell ill and could not get out of bed. My arm and leg were paralyzed. The mother’s neighbors came to Andrei, they say. “Do you have a conscience, Andrey? The mother cannot get out of bed; she needs constant care.” The son promised to visit his mother and did not. The neighbors began to care for the sick old woman.

Six months have passed. A year has passed. Christina's health has not improved. But her son never came to her. Rumor spread throughout the village: the son abandoned his mother. People called Andrei heartless, and then with a more expressive word - brute.

People walked around Andrei and did not greet him. Andrei became afraid, and he laid hands on himself.

Why does this happen?

Why do sons sometimes turn out to be ungrateful? Where do people with official hearts come from? People remembered the life of this unfortunate mother: she put all the strength of her heart into her beloved son, into “her little gold,” into Andriyko, and did not get enough sleep at night. People remembered how, even before the organization of the collective farm, Christina and her husband used to go to the field to mow wheat. He would put it on a cart of fragrant hay, cover it with a white linen, carry the sleeping Andriyk with pillows and a blanket, and cover his face from the burning sun. Andriyko is sleeping. Eight-year-olds like him collect firewood in the forest, light a fire, carry water, and he sleeps.

Andriyko grew up healthy and cheerful, his mother doted on him and was most concerned that nothing disturbing would touch his heart, that not a single adversity would darken his serene childhood. One autumn, Christina treated the boy to mushrooms fried in sour cream. He liked the food so much that every day he asked for mushrooms with sour cream. And there were fewer and fewer mushrooms nearby, and Christina had to walk twelve miles into the forest. One day my mother cut her leg and barely made it home. But reluctantly she didn’t even show that the misfortune had happened: is it possible for Andriyk’s mood to deteriorate? “Why does he need to know that there is sorrow in the world?” - this is what Christina always said when she wanted to close her children’s eyes to something sad. So it is this time. I somehow bandaged my wounded leg and went to a neighbor. Every day a neighbor would bring a basket of mushrooms, and her mother would give her her embroidered shirts for it.

Andriyko never found out what trouble befell his mother. His heart lived only with joys and pleasures. He took from people and gave them nothing - that’s why he grew up as a man with a heart of stone.

The years of Petrus’s childhood passed completely differently. His mother also loved him, also doted on her son, but did not protect his heart from all those difficulties and contradictions of life in which joy is intertwined with bitterness, happiness with troubles and anxieties. In childhood, a person learns the world not only with his mind, but also with his heart; everything that happens in life awakens in a child’s soul a wide variety of feelings, experiences, impulses, and aspirations. Among these emotional movements of childhood, feelings of compassion, mercy, and participation leave a particularly deep imprint on the heart. Maria’s sensitive maternal heart made sure that from an early age a person felt: there are people living next to me, they have their own interests, desires, they want to be happy.

To be happy yourself, you need to carefully, subtly, warmly, sensitively, and caringly touch the hearts of other people. Maria, of course, did not repeat this holy commandment of national morality at every step (a child could not understand the depth of this truth) - she taught her son to live like this.

Next to Maria lived a lonely old woman who was often ill. I remember, as soon as something began to ripen in Mary’s big garden - cherries, cherries, apples, pears, plums, grapes, my mother called Petrus:

“Bring it to an old, lonely man,” and she gave her hands a plate with the first ripened fruits.

This became a habit for the child.

“It’s easier to talk about love for humanity,” Maria taught her son, “than to help Grandma Yarina chop wood for the winter.” Humanity is far away, but Grandma Yarina is nearby, her conscience will not allow her to close her eyes at night if she has nothing to heat with. Listen, son, with your heart to the worries and sorrows of men.

Two mothers

In a small hospital on the outskirts of a big city, there were two mothers - Black-Boxed and White-Balled. They gave birth to sons. The sons were born on the same day: to the Black-Boxed Mother in the morning, to the White-Boxed Mother in the evening. Both mothers were happy. They dreamed about the future of their sons.

“I want my son to become an outstanding person,” said the White-haired mother. — A musician or writer known throughout the world. Or a sculptor who created a work of art that will live for centuries. Or an engineer who built a spaceship that will fly to a distant star... That's what you want to live for...

“And I want my son to become a kind person,” said the Black-Boxed Mother. - So that he never forgets his mother and home. To love the Motherland and hate enemies.

Every day, fathers came to visit young mothers. They looked for a long time at the small faces of their sons, happiness, amazement and tenderness shone in their eyes. Then they sat by the beds of their wives and talked to them about something in a whisper for a long, long time. At the cradle of a newborn, they dream about the future - of course, only about a happy one. A week later, the happy husbands, who had now become fathers, took their wives and sons home.

Thirty years have passed. Two women came to the same small hospital on the outskirts of a big city - Black-Boxed and White-Balled. There was already silver in their braids, their faces were criss-crossed with wrinkles, but the women were as beautiful as they had been thirty years ago. They recognized each other. They were both admitted to treatment in the same ward where they gave birth to their sons three decades ago. They talked about their lives. Both had many joys and even more sorrow. Their husbands died at the front. But for some reason, while talking about their lives, they were silent about their sons. Finally the Black-haired mother asked:

- Who did your son become?

“An outstanding musician,” the White-haired mother answered proudly. “He is now conducting an orchestra that is performing in the largest theater in our city. He is a huge success. Don't you know my son? - And White-Balled said the name of the musician. Yes, of course, the Black-Boxed Mother knew this name well, it was known to many. She recently read about the great success of this musician abroad.

- What did your son become? - asked White-Balled.

- Grain grower. Well, to make it clearer for you, you have to work as a machine operator on a collective farm, that is, as a tractor driver, as a combine operator, and on a livestock farm. From early spring to late autumn, until the snow covers the ground, my son plows the land and sows grain, harvests and plows the land again, sows and harvests again... We live in a village about a hundred kilometers from here. My son has two children - a three-year-old boy and a girl recently born...

“Still, happiness passed you by,” said White-Beared. - Your son has become a simple, unknown person.

The black-haired mother did not answer.

Not even a day had passed, and a son came from the village to see the Black-Boxed mother. In a white robe, he sat on a white bench and whispered for a long, long time about something with his mother. Joy shone in the eyes of the Black-Boxed Mother. She seemed to have forgotten about everything in the world in those moments. She held her son's strong, sun-tanned hand in hers and smiled. Parting with his mother, the son, as if apologizing, put grapes, honey, and butter out of his bag onto a small table. “Get well, Mom,” he said goodbye and kissed her.

But no one came to the White-haired Maghery. In the evening, when silence reigned in the room and the Black-Boxed Mother, lying in bed, quietly smiled at her thoughts, the White-Boxed Mother said:

— My son has a concert now... If it weren’t for the concert, he, of course, would come.

On the second day, before evening, the son-farmer from a distant village again came to the Black-Boxed Mother. Again he sat for a long time on the white bench, and the White-Beared Mother heard that it was busy time in the field, they were working day and night... Parting with his mother, the son laid out honeycombs, white palyanitsa and apples on a small table. The Black-haired woman’s face glowed with happiness and her wrinkles straightened out.

No one came to see the White-haired mother.

In the evening the women lay in silence. Black-haired smiled, and White-haired sighed quietly, afraid that her neighbor would hear her sighs.

On the third day, before evening, the son-farmer from a distant village came to the Black-Boxed Mother again - he brought two large watermelons, grapes, apples... Together with the son, a three-year-old black-eyed grandson came. The son and grandson sat for a long time at the bedside of the Black-Boxed mother; Happiness shone in her eyes, she looked younger. With a pain in her heart, the white-haired mother heard her grandson telling his grandmother: yesterday he and his dad rode on the “captain’s bridge” of the combine for half a day. “I will also be a combine operator,” said the boy, and his grandmother kissed him. At those moments, the white-haired mother remembered that her son, an outstanding musician, went on long trips, and, as they said in the family, sent his little son to some boarding school...

Two mothers lay in the hospital for a month, every day the son-farmbeard from a distant village came to the Black-Bosed mother, brought his filial smile, and it seemed that the mother was recovering only from that smile. It seemed to the White-haired mother that when her neighbor’s son came to see her, even the hospital walls wanted the mother of her son-farmer to get well soon.

No one came to the White-haired mother. A month has passed. The doctors told the Black-Boxed Mother: “Now you are a completely healthy woman. There is no noise or interruption in the heart.” And the doctor said to the White-haired mother: “You still need to lie down. Of course, you will also become a completely healthy person.” While saying this, the doctor looked away for some reason.

The son came for the Black-Boxed mother. He brought several large bouquets of red roses. He gave flowers to doctors and nurses. Everyone in the hospital was smiling.

Saying goodbye to Black-Boxed Mother, White-Boxed Mother asked her to stay alone with her for a few minutes. When everyone left the room, the White-haired mother asked with tears in her eyes:

- Tell me, dear, how did you raise such a son? After all, we gave birth to them on the same day. You are happy, and I ... - and she began to cry.

“We will part and never see each other again,” said Black-Boxed, “because there cannot be such a wonderful coincidence for the third time.” So I will tell you the whole truth. The son I gave birth to on that happy day died... He died when he was not even a year old. And this... is not my blood son, but my own! I adopted him as a three-year-old boy. He, of course, vaguely remembers this... But for him I am his own mother. You saw it with your own eyes. I'm happy. And you are an unhappy person, and I deeply sympathize with you. If you knew how much I suffered these days for you. I already wanted to leave the hospital, because every visit of my son brought you difficult experiences. When you leave the hospital, go to your son and tell him: his callousness will turn against him. The way he treats his mother is how his children will treat him. Indifference to father and mother is not forgiven.

Mama's boy

The mother raised two sons. One of them went missing in action during the war, the other returned from service alive and well, bringing with him several suitcases of “trophy” goods. He never opened these suitcases in front of his mother. The mother's hut fell into disrepair, the son decided to build a new one. I chose a place at the other end of the village, away from my mother. He built a brick house, covered it with zinc, and got married. The young family lived comfortably. And my mother’s house was falling apart. I asked my son to cover the leaky roof with straw. The son replied: I have enough worries of my own, think about your own house. Mother cried...

Great grief came to the old mother: she fell ill and could not get out of bed. My arm and leg were paralyzed. The mother’s neighbors came to her son and said: “Do you have a conscience, Andrei? The mother does not get out of bed; she needs constant care.” The son promised to come to his mother - and did not come. The neighbors began to care for the sick old woman.

Six months have passed, a year has passed. The mother felt worse and worse. But her son never came to her. Rumor spread throughout the village: the son abandoned his mother. People called Andrei heartless, and then more expressively - a brute. His four neighbors were planning to build new houses near Andrei’s new house. But can an honest collective farmer live next to soulless cattle? The collective farmers asked for plots in another place, built houses, and moved. There were four “empty areas” left with leaky thatched roofs. It became scary to walk along the street where Andrei lived. From evening to morning, the sad voice of owls was heard in empty courtyards. A year later, five more collective farmers moved into new huts, and it became creepy on the street. Andrei asked the chairman of the collective farm: give the empty plots to someone for development, but no one wanted to settle next to him.

On a stormy spring night, one abandoned hut caught fire from lightning, the wind blew, the entire abandoned hut burned down, only Andrei's house, covered with zinc, remained safe and sound. Andrei's mother died that same night. A son and his wife came to the funeral, squeezed out a tear, tried to do what sons do before the deathbed of their mothers, but somehow it turned out that everything that needed to be done was already done by someone. The neighbors folded the mother's remaining clothes and tied them in a bundle. Andrei took the bundle home, and the people saw him off with a look of surprise mixed with hatred.

Weeds grew in the fire. People saw how a wolf approached Andreeva’s hut at night, stood on a pile of ash, raised its muzzle and howled pitifully.

People avoided Andrei on the tenth road and did not greet him. Horror gripped the soul of this heartless man. He became afraid to leave the hut; he went to bed at sunset. No one wanted to build new homes on the ashes; the courtyards were overgrown with thistles and aspens. Something happened to Andrei, people said, he went crazy: during the day he began to be afraid of the sun and people, and at night he wandered through the ashes. People were not surprised when they heard the news: Andrei hanged himself on a pole, preserved in one ashes.

Why does this happen? The mother gave all the strength of her heart to her beloved son, Andreichik, and did not get enough sleep at night. People remembered the childhood and adolescence of an ungrateful son. They remembered how Christina and her husband used to go out in a cart into the field to mow wheat. He used to put it on a cart of fragrant hay, cover it with white linen, carry Andreyk with pillows, and protect him from the morning cold. The eldest, twelve-year-old Pilipko helps his father and mother, collects firewood in the forest, lights a fire, carries water, and ten-year-old Andreyko sleeps.

Andreiko grew up healthy and cheerful, his mother doted on him and was most concerned that nothing disturbing would touch his heart, that not a single adversity in life would darken his serene childhood. One autumn, Pilipka and Andreik’s mother treated them to fried mushrooms in sour cream. Andrey liked the dish so much that every day he asked for mushrooms with sour cream. And there were fewer and fewer mushrooms nearby, and Christina had to walk twelve miles into the forest every day. One day my mother cut her leg and barely made it home. But reluctantly she didn’t even show that the misfortune had happened: is it possible for Andreika’s mood to darken? Why does he need to know that there is sorrow in the world? - this is what Christina always said when she wanted to close her children’s eyes to something sad. So it is this time. She somehow bandaged her wounded leg and asked Andreika to call her neighbor. Every day a neighbor would bring a basket of mushrooms, and her mother would give her her embroidered shirts for it. Andreiko never knew that trouble had befallen his mother. His heart lived only by its own joys, not a single desire went beyond the boundaries of its own pleasures. That's why he grew up as a heartless person, indifferent to the grief and worries, worries and worries of other people.

Passion for getting rich

This is the fate of one family. A young agronomist and a worker at the state farm's livestock farm began their family life brightly and joyfully. They helped the young family build a stone house. The owner planted grapes on the plot and started an apiary. I got rare varieties of apple and pear trees. Nikolai Petrovich's house with a garden and vineyard became a quiet corner. But life in this house was difficult and gloomy. Every year the owner became more and more seized by the passion for enrichment. He surrounded the estate with a high fence. From early spring to late autumn, he spent the night in the garden so that no one would pluck a flower, an apple or a bunch of grapes. The entire harvest from the garden went to the market. Maria, Nikolai Petrovich's wife, asked to leave at least something at home, but the owner was inexorable. Near the house he built a stone cellar, a barn, and made an electrical installation for watering the garden. I got hold of unprecedented varieties of tomatoes and started growing them, also for sale. A greenhouse appeared in the depths of the garden - not only early tomatoes were grown here, but also flowers - also for sale.

Nikolai Petrovich and Maria had an only daughter. Her father forbade her to invite her friends home.

Oksana graduated from school and began working as a laboratory assistant at a creamery. A young machine operator fell in love with a girl. Once, secretly from her father, a girl and a young man came to a snowy garden, opened the greenhouse and gave him several flowers. Suddenly the father came, got angry when he saw his daughter and the young man in the greenhouse, and tore out the flowers...

“I won’t set foot in this damned house again,” said Oksana. “You, father, tried to kill everything human in me.” You poisoned my childhood. Your soul is cruel.

Oksana left her parents, and a few years later she left for her daughter and mother. Nikolai Petrovich was left alone with “his treasures.” This is how happiness becomes illusory and poisonous if it is based on base passions.

Legend about the pioneer

When the Germans came to the village, Yura was left alone with his mother. My father and older brother went to the Red Army. The Germans ordered the mother and son to move into a small room, and a fascist officer moved into the large one.

When Yurko left the room into the courtyard, the officer was sitting under a pear tree and drinking coffee. He asked:

- What's your name, boy?

- How old are you?

- Ten.

-Are you a pioneer?

- Pioneer.

-Where is your tie?

- In the chest.

- Why is it in the chest? Why don't you wear it?

— Because you can’t wear a tie with the Nazis. We must take care of him until our people arrive...

The officer turned pale. His hands began to tremble. But he, restraining himself, continued to pose as a naive soldier for whom politics is indifferent.

“Take some candy,” he said.

- I can’t take candy from you...

- Why?

- Because I hate you fascists.

The officer looked at the boy with wide open eyes. He put a cup of coffee on the table and stood up.

- What would you do? Yurko, if I gave you my gun?

— Charged?

- Yes, loaded.

- I would kill you.

The officer, with trembling hands, pulled a pistol from his holster and shot the boy in the heart.

It is unknown from whom - perhaps from the tree under which Yurko died - the words of the boy and the officer were passed on from mouth to mouth, like a legend. And no one said:

“The boy would have been silent, why did he open his chest in front of the enemy’s bullet?”

Everyone who listened to the story of Yurk’s death had a heart beating faster.

Petrik and Pavlik

Father and mother are sitting at the table. Mother sews, father reads the newspaper. Five-year-old Petrik plays on the sofa: he saddles his horse, gets ready for a long journey, dreams of traveling across the blue sea.
The mother looked out the window and said to the father:

- Damn Grandma Marfa...

Petrik quickly unsaddled his horse and stood up to look out the window at the marvelous wonder, but was too late. Grandma Martha was already knocking on the door.

Mother said:

- Come in, please.

When Grandma Martha entered, her mother invited her to sit down in a gentle voice. Grandmother sat down, sighed heavily and said:

- I barely got there. My legs hurt so much, they hurt so bad...

Petrik looked at Grandma Marfa in amazement. He asked:

“Grandma Marfa, did you go by yourself?”

“Yes, she wasn’t driving, she was walking,” the grandmother answered and, smiling, gave Petrik a treat - a sweet cake.

“You, mom, said that Grandma Martha was the devil,” Petrik said reproachfully.

The mother's face flushed, then turned pale. She bowed her head and looked at the sewing. Father covered himself with a newspaper. Grandma Marfa got up and quietly left. An oppressive silence reigned in the house.

Many years later. Petrik has become an adult, he has a wife and a five-year-old son, Pavlik. The father died, the mother lives in her hut.

One day an old mother came to visit her son. I stayed for a while, evening was approaching. The mother says, as if thinking:

- What should I do - go home or spend the night with you? It's getting dark, and the road is long.

“Go home, mom,” said the son.

And at that time five-year-old Pavlik was playing on the sofa: he was saddling his horse, getting ready for a long journey, dreaming of traveling across the blue sea. Hearing his father see off his grandmother, Pavlik said:

“I’ll give you a horse, grandma.” Get on it, go... Grandma was getting dressed, and tears were dripping from her eyes.

Handset

Thirteen-year-old Kostya lived in a small town on the Dnieper and studied in the sixth grade.

Recently Kostya’s mother was given a nice apartment in a three-story building, on the second floor. There is a pay phone near the house. Here you can call at any moment, even in the middle of the night.

One day Kostya looked into the booth and decided to cut off the telephone receiver. I’ll do it, he thinks, I’ll have my phone at home. I will talk with my friend Yura, who lives on the third floor.

So I did. I cut off the phone, but where can Yura get the phone? I went with a friend and found another booth three streets away. They cut the tube there too. They made a telephone and are talking. Very funny. The mother sees, but doesn’t even ask: “Where did the tube come from?”

Several days passed. One night Kostya woke up and heard a groan. Mom moans. He asks to turn on the light. Kostya turned on the light bulb and saw his mother lying pale and breathing heavily.

“Oh, my heart... for my son...” Kostya heard the mother whisper. - Run to the phone... Call an ambulance... You know how to call... - and the mother lost consciousness.

When Kostya heard his mother’s words about the phone, he felt horror. After all, in the two nearest booths he cut the pipes, there are no new ones yet, he saw it himself today... What to do?

Kostya ran out into the street and began to cry. What will happen now? Where to run? I remembered that there was a pay phone at the railway bridge. I ran.

Kostya is running through the city, there is an unusual silence around, the city is sleeping. My heart is about to jump out of my chest. The boy wants to shout to the whole world: “Mom is dying, help, good people...”

I ran to the bridge, but there was no booth. Kostya groaned and sobbed and rushed to run home.

He opened the door to the room. The mother lies pale, not breathing.

"Mother! Mother!" - Kostya shouted and fell to his knees in front of the bed.

Dirty word

Seventh-grader Misha went to the toilet. He picked up a piece of coal from the floor and wrote a dirty, offensive word on the wall.

- So you’ve already learned to write? - He suddenly heard a reproachful voice and looked around in fear.

Teacher Nikolai Vasilyevich stood in front of him.

- Well, read what you wrote.

Misha was silent. He wrote such a dirty word that he couldn’t even bring himself to pronounce it.

Nikolai Vasilyevich was also silent. Then he asked:

— Do you know who works as a cleaner at our school?

“Aunt Maria...” Misha said in a whisper.

- Now let's go to Aunt Maria and ask her to whiten your letter...

Misha’s hands also became cold. He was so ashamed. “You don’t have to go to Aunt Maria,” he said through tears.

He wiped away the dirty word with his white shirt sleeve. But a black mark remained on the wall.

“I’ll bring clay and a brush,” Misha began to ask again. - Please forgive me...

“No, I can’t forgive,” Nikolai Vasilyevich said sternly. “You insulted your mother with that dirty word.” Insulted Aunt Maria. He insulted all women. So ask your mother for forgiveness.

- Oh, I can’t ask... I’m ashamed...

- If you are ashamed to ask for forgiveness today, ask in a year, two years, even ten years, but you will not dare to say the sacred word “I love” to a girl until she forgives you for this dirty, offensive word.

Misha was crying.

Years passed, Misha became a young man, but he could not forget what he had done during his adolescence.

And so Misha fell in love with the girl Olesya. Olesya was surprised: why is Misha sometimes silent and sad?

One day Misha said to Olesya:

- Forgive me, Olesya, for insulting you... And he talked about how he insulted all mothers, all women with a dirty word.

Olesya asked in surprise:

- Why didn’t you forget about it? After all, so many years have passed... And why were you silent?

“I couldn’t carry this guilt anymore.” I've been judging myself for years. Now you either judge me or forgive me.

“I forgive you,” Olesya said quietly.

For a dog - a dog's death

In the village of Kutsevolovka, Onufrievsky district, there lived a boy, Mikhail Topolya. Mikhail's mother died an hour after giving birth. The child was saved by a distant relative of the mother, Oksana. She was feeding her daughter Marina, who was born a month earlier. Now I had to feed two children. The boy grew up strong and healthy. Before he was a year old, he rose to his feet and began to walk, but Oksana could not wean him off the breast; she fed him until he was two years old. “The boy,” she justified herself, “is an orphan, but let him know neither grief nor loneliness.” Oksana gave everything to him. “Like cheese rolling around in butter,” the neighbors said about Mikhail’s serene childhood, shaking their heads, “this will not lead to good.” Oksana heard from the edge of her ear about the concerns expressed by her neighbors, but they brushed them aside. The boy was her creation, she saved his life, she saw herself in him. He slept as much as he wanted, everything was allowed to him, and nothing was forbidden. There were crucian carp in the pond, Mikhailik loved fried fish with sour cream. And Oksana and Marinka went to the pond, splashed around in the water for several hours to please the “dytyna”. Autumn had already arrived, the crucian carp hid deep in the mud, and Mikhailik wouldn’t even touch a spoon unless there was a frying pan with fried crucian carp on the table. Oksana climbed into the cold water. I caught a cold and fell ill. So that there would be crucian carp on the table, Marinka took her mother’s embroidered shirt and tablecloth to the fishermen and exchanged them for fish...

It turned out that there was nothing in Mikhail’s life that he would have got with difficulty, in which a piece of his soul would have been left. In an empty heart that knows no worries, worries, worries, there can be no place for true love.

Mikhailo studied at school one day. I sat in the fourth grade for two years, had two autumn exams in the fifth and barely moved on to the sixth, and did not finish the sixth in two years. At the age of sixteen he dropped out of school. Oksana cried, reproached... “You will drive me into the grave with your school,” Mikhailo shouted. “I won’t set foot in your house again.” I know that you are not my mother. And for feeding me, I will buy you a barrel of milk.”

Stunned by the grave insult, Oksana fell ill. And Mikhailo went to live with a distant relative of his father, a forester.

A few months later the war began. When the invaders arrived, the slender, red-cheeked Mikhailo caught the eye of the policemen. The police served the fascists with dog-like loyalty and carried out the dirtiest, most shameful deeds. The sending of young people into fascist slavery began - to work in Germany. The police hunted the young people like animals. One night the Nazis sent all the police on a raid. Mikhailo ended up on the street where Oksana lived. Together with other girls, he brought Marina to the village government. Oksana was crying outside the village hall door. When Mikhailo left the hut, she spat in his eyes and called him a traitor.

“You are a partisan!” - Mikhailo shouted and ran to the officer. Oksana was grabbed and tied up. We went home with a search. Several grenades and a rifle were found in the attic.

“Where does all this come from?” - asked the officer.

The woman was silent.

“Which villager can tell where she got the weapon from?” - the officer threw into the crowd of people driven to the house of the village council.

Everyone was silent. Mikhailo, who was in a group of policemen, said:

“She is connected with the partisans. Suspicious people come to her at night.”

The old men and women stood holding their breath. They couldn’t believe it: what kind of monster do you have to be to send to death a woman who was a man’s mother: after all, she fed him.

“Well,” said the officer, “the partisans have the same end. And as a reward for serving the Reich faithfully, I give you the great honor: shoot this woman with your hand.” They say that at that moment, on the Maidan in front of the village council, it was as if the earth was groaning: a groan escaped from dozens of breasts, people could not take their eyes off the traitor. He took Oksana and his friends to the willows near the pond. People heard three dull shots, and the earth groaned again. Mikhailo Topolya returned with his friends. That same evening, the Nazis sent Marinka, who was caught along with other girls during a raid, to the station. And three days later, the news spread throughout the Dnieper villages: in the wilderness of the forest, in the Volchye tract, not far from the forester’s hut, Mikhail was found hanging from an oak branch. On the chest there is a piece of paper with the inscription: “This will happen to every traitor!”

When the villagers learned about the just retribution that befell the traitor, they sighed with relief and said: “A dog’s death is a dog’s death.”