The story on the summer theme for younger students
Ivan Turgenev “Quail”
I was ten years old when something happened to me that I will tell you now.
It was summer. I lived then with my father on a farm in southern Russia. My father was a passionate hunter; and as soon as he was not busy with the housework – and the weather was good – he took a gun, put on a game bag, called his old Trezor and went to shoot partridges and quails. He often took me with him. great it was a pleasure for me!
I thrust my pants into the tops, put a flask over my shoulder – and I imagined myself a hunter! Sweat poured me down with hail, small pebbles hammered into my boots; but I did not feel tired and did not lag behind my father.
When the shot rang out and the bird fell, I always jumped up and down on the spot and even shouted – it was so much fun! The injured bird beat and flapped its wings on the grass, then in Trezor’s teeth — blood flowed from it, but I still had fun, and I did not feel any pity. What would I not give to shoot myself with a gun and kill partridges and quails! But my father announced that before the age of twelve I would not have a gun; and he will give me a single-barreled gun and only larks will allow me to shoot. There were many of these larks in our area.
One day, my father and I went hunting – to the very day of Petrov. At that time, the young partridges are still small, the father did not want to shoot them and went into small oak bushes, near the rye field, where quails were always seen. Mowing there was inconvenient – and the grass stood untouched for a long time. There were a lot of flowers there: peas, cranberries, bells, forget-me-nots, field carnations. When I went there with my sister or with the maid, I always gathered a whole bunch of them; but when I went with my father, I didn’t tear flowers: I found this occupation unworthy of a hunter.
Suddenly, Trezor made a stand; my father shouted: “Pil!” —and a quail jumped up from under Trezor’s very nose — and flew away. Only she flew very strangely: she tumbled, twisted, fell to the ground – as if she was wounded or her wing had broken. Trezor rushed after her. he did not do that when the bird flew as it should.
My father could not even shoot, he was afraid that he would catch a dog with a shot. And suddenly I look: Trezor naddal – and DAC! Grabbed quail, brought and handed it to her father. The father took it and put it on his palm, belly up. I jumped. “What is this, I say, was she wounded?” – “No,” said my father, “she was not wounded; and she must have a nest close to the little ones here, and she purposely pretended to be wounded so that the dog could think that it was easy to catch. ” “Why does she do this?” I asked. “And in order to take the dog away from their little ones. Then she would have flown well. Only this time she is not disappointed; she too pretended to be and Trezor caught her. ” “So is she not injured?” I asked again. “Not. but she is not alive. The treasurer of her must have given a tooth. ” I moved closer to the quail. She lay motionless on her father’s palm, dangling her head, and looked at me from the side with her brown eye.
And I suddenly felt so sorry for her! It seemed to me that she was looking at me and thinking: “Why should I die? For what? After all, I did my duty; they tried to save their little ones, take the dog away – and then I got it! Poor me! Poor thing! Unfair it is! Not fair!”
“Daddy! – I said, – yes, maybe she will not die. “And wanted to stroke the little quail on the head. But father said to me: “No! Look here: now her legs will stretch out, she will all shudder, and her eyes will close ”. So it just happened. As soon as her eyes closed, I wept. “What are you doing?” Asked the father and laughed. “I pity her,” I said. – She performed her duty – and she was killed! This is unfair! ”-“ She wanted to cheat, ”my father replied. “Only Trezor outwitted her.” “Angry Trezor! – I thought. Yes, and the father himself seemed unkind to me this time. – What is the trick here? There is a love for cubs, not a trick! If she was ordered to pretend to save her children, Trezor shouldn’t catch her! ”The father wanted to shove the quail into a game bag, but I asked for it from him, put it carefully in both hands, breathed on her. won’t she wake up However, she did not move. “In vain, brother,” said the father, “you will not resurrect her. You see, her head is loose. ”
I gently lifted her nose; but only I took my hand – the head fell again. “Do you feel sorry for all of her?” My father asked me. “And who will feed the little ones?” I asked in my turn. Father stared at me. “Do not worry, the male says – quail, their father will feed them. Why, wait, ”he added,“ in no way does Trezor stand again. is it not a nest? The nest is. And for sure. in the grass, two steps away from the Tresorova snout, closely, side by side lay four chicks; pressed against each other, pulled necks – and everyone so soon, for one time breathing. just tremble! And already fledged; there is no down on them – only the tails are still very short. “Dad! Dad! – I cried a good mat. – Call off Trezor! And then he will kill them too! ”
Father shouted at Trésor and, moving a little to one side, crouched under a bush to have breakfast. And I stayed near the nest, did not want to have breakfast. He took out a clean handkerchief, put a quail on it: “Look, they say, orphans, here is your mother! She sacrificed herself for you! ”The chicks were still breathing soon, with their whole body.
Then I went to my father. “Can you give me this quail?” I asked him. “If you please. But what do you want to do with it? ”-“ I want to bury her! ”-“ Bury her ?! ”-“ Yes; near her nest. Give me your knife; I’ll dig her grave. “
Father was surprised. “So that the children go to her grave?” He asked. “No,” I replied, “as well. I would like to. She will lie here well, near his nest! ”The father did not say a word; took out and gave me a knife. I immediately dug a dimple; he kissed the quail on the breast, put it in a dimple, and covered it with earth.
Then I cut two branches with the same knife, peeled them from the bark, folded them with a cross, bandaged it with blade, and stuck it in a grave.
Soon my father and I went on; but I kept looking around. The cross was white – and I could see it far.
And at night I had a dream: as if I was in heaven; and what? My little quail is sitting on a small cloud, but also all white, like that cross! And on her head is a little golden corolla; and as if it was her reward for the fact that she suffered for her children!
Five days later my father and I came back to the same place. I found the grave on the cross, which, although yellowed, did not fall. However, the nest was empty, there were no trace of the nestlings. My father assured me that the old man had taken them away, their father; and when, a few steps away, the old quail flew out from under the bush, he did not shoot him. And I thought, “No! Good Daddy! ”
But what is surprising: from that day my passion for hunting disappeared and I no longer thought about the time when my father would give me a gun! However, when I grew up, I also started shooting; but a real hunter never did.