“Dogsrun-“
　　“Dogs？Now，enough，littlefellow。“
　　“Dogsrunlikechickens。Theyrunhere，intheravine，“
　　continuedNilushkainthemurmuringaccentsofachildofthree。
　　“Nevertheless，“musedVologonov，“eventhatseemingnothingofhismaymeansomething。Yes，theremaylieinitagreatdeal。
　　Now，say:’Perditionwillarisebeforehimwhoshallhasten。’“
　　“No，IwanttoSINGsomething。“
　　WithasplutterVologonovsaid:
　　“Trulyyouareadifficultsubjecttodealwith！“
　　Andwiththathefelltopacingthefloorwithlong，thoughtfulstridesastheidiot’svoicecriedinquaveringaccents:
　　“OLo-ord，haveme-ercyuponus！“
　　ThusthewinsomeNilushkaprovedindispensabletothefoul，mean，unhealthylifeofthesuburb。Ofthatlifehecolouredandroundedoffthesenselessness，theugliness，thesuperfluity。Heresembledanapplehangingforgottenonagnarledoldworm-eatentree，whenceallthefruitandtheleaveshavefallenuntilonlythebrancheswaveintheautumnwind。Rather，heresembledasole-survivingpictureinthepagesofaragged，soiledoldbookwhichhasneitherabeginningnoranending，andthereforecannolongerberead，isnolongerworththereading，sincenowitspagescontainnothingintelligible。
　　Andassmilinghisgracioussmile，thelad’spathetic，legendaryfigureflittedpastthemouldybutsandcrackedfencesandriotousbedsofnettles，therewouldreadilyrecurtothememory，andsucceedoneanother，visionsofsomeofthefinerandmorereputablepersonagesofRussianlore——therewouldfilebeforeone’smentalvision，inendlesssequence，menwhosebiographiesinformushow，infearfortheirsouls，theyleftthelifeoftheworld，and，hieingthemtotheforestsandthecaves，abandonedmankindforthewildthingsofnature。Andatthesametimewouldthererecurtoone’smemorypoemsconcerningtheblindandthepoor-inparticular，thepoemconcerningAlexeitheManofGod，andallthemultitudeofotherfair，butunsubstantial，formswhereinRussiahasembodiedhersadandterrifiedsoul，herhumbleandprotestinggrief。Yetitwasaprocesstodepressonealmosttothepointofdistraction。
　　Once，forgettingthatNilushkawasimbecile，Iconceivedanirrepressibledesiretotalkwithhim，andtoreadhimgoodpoetry，andtotellhimbothoftheworld’syouthfulhopesandofmyownpersonalthoughts。
　　Theoccasionhappenedonadaywhen，asIwassittingontheedgeoftheravine，anddanglingmylegsovertheravine’sdepths，theladcamefloatingtowardsmeasthoughonair。Inhishands，withtheirfingersasslenderasagirl’s，hewasholdingalargeleaf；andashegazedatitthesmileofhisclearblueeyeswas，asitwere，pervadinghimfromheadtofoot。
　　“Whither，Nilushka？“saidI。
　　Withastartheraisedhisheadandeyesheavenward。Thentimidlyheglancedattheblueshadowoftheravine，andextendedtomehisleaf，overtheveinsofwhichtherewascrawlingaladybird。
　　“Abukan，“heobserved。
　　“Itisso。Andwhitherareyougoingtotakeit？“
　　“Weshallallofusdie。Iwasgoingtotakeandburyit。“
　　“Butitisalive；andonedoesnotburythingsbeforetheyaredead。“
　　Nilushkaclosedandopenedhiseyesonceortwice。
　　“Ishouldliketosingsomething，“heremarked。
　　“Rather，doyouSAYsomething。“
　　Heglancedattheravineagain——hispinknostrilsquiveringanddilating——thensighedasthoughhewasweary，andinallunconsciousnessmutteredafoulexpression。AshedidsoI
　　noticedthatontheportionofhisneckbelowhisrighteartherewasalargebirthmark，andthat，coveredwithgoldendownlikevelvet，andresemblinginshapeabee，itseemedtobeendowedwithasimilitudeoflife，throughthefaintbeatingofaveininitsvicinity。
　　Presentlytheladybirdraisedherupperwingsasthoughshewerepreparingforflight；whereuponNilushkasoughtwithafingertodetainher，and，insodoing，letfalltheleaf，andenabledtheinsecttodetachitselfandflyawayatalowlevel。Uponthat，bendingforwardwitharmsoutstretched，theidiotwentsoftlyinpursuit，muchasthoughhehimselfwerelaunchinghisbodyintoleisurelyflight，but，whentenpacesaway，stopped，raisedhisfacetoheaven，and，witharmspendentbeforehim，andthepalmsofhishandsturnedoutwardsasthoughrestingonsomethingwhichIcouldnotsee，remainedfixedandmotionless。
　　Fromtheravinethereweretendingupwardstowardsthesunlightsomegreensprigsofwillow，withdullyellowflowersandaclumpofgreywormwood，whilethedampcrackswhichseamedtheclayoftheravinewerelinedwithroundleavesofthe“mother-stepmotherplant，“androundaboutuslittlebirdswerehovering，andfromboththebushesandthebedoftheravinetherewasascendingthemoistsmellofdecay。Yetoverourheadstheskywasclear，asthesun，nowsoleoccupantoftheheavens，declinedslowlyinthedirectionofthedarkmarshesacrosstheriver；onlyabovetheroofsofZhitnaiaStreetcouldtherebeseenflutteringaboutinalarmaflockofsnow-whitepigeons，whilewavingbelowthemwastheblackbesomwhichhad，asitwere，sweptthemintotheair，andfromafaronecouldhearthesoundofanangrymurmur，themournful，mysteriousmurmurofthetown。
　　Whiningly，likeanoldman，achildofthesuburbwasraisingitsvoiceinlamentation；andasIlistenedtothesound，itputmeinmindofaclerkreadingVespersamidthedesolationofanemptychurch。Presentlyabrowndogpasseduswithshaggyheaddespondentlypendent，andeyesasbeautifulasthoseofadrunkenwoman。
　　And，tocompletethepicture，therewasstanding——outlinedagainstthenearestshantyofthesuburb，ashantywhichlayattheextremeedgeoftheravine-therewasstanding，facetothesun，andbacktothetown，asthoughpreparingforflight，thestraight，slenderformoftheboywho，whilealientoall，caressedallwiththeeternallyincomprehensiblesmileofhisangel-likeeyes。Yes，thatgoldenbirthmarksolikeabeeIcanseetothisday！
　　Twoweekslater，onaSundayatmid-day，Nilushkapassedintotheotherworld。Thatday，afterreturninghomefromlateMass，andhandingtohismotheracoupleofwaferswhichhadbeengivenhimasamarkofcharity，theladsaid:
　　“Mother，pleaselayoutmybedonthechest，forIthinkthatI
　　amgoingtoliedownforthelasttime。“
　　YetthewordsinnowaysurprisedFelitzata，forhehadoftenbeforeremarked，beforeretiringtorest:
　　“Somedayweshallallofushavetodie。“
　　Atthesametime，whereas，onpreviousoccasions，Nilushkahadnevergonetosleepwithoutfirstofallsingingtohimselfhislittlesong，andthenchantingtheeternal，universal“Lord，havemercyuponus！“he，onthisoccasion，merelyfoldedhishandsuponhisbreast，closedhiseyes，andrelapsedintoslumber。
　　ThatdayFelitzatahaddinner，andthendepartedonbusinessofherown；andwhenshereturnedintheevening，shewasastonishedtofindthathersonwasstillasleep。Next，onlookingcloserathim，sheperceivedthathewasdead。
　　“Ilooked，“sherelatedplaintivelytosomeofthesuburbanresidentswhocamerunningtohercot，“andperceivedhislittlefeettobeblue；andsinceitwasonlyjustbeforeMassthatIhadwashedhishandswithsoap，Iremarkedthemorereadilythathisfeetwerebecomelesswhitethanhishands。AndwhenIfeltoneofthosehands，Ifoundthatithadstiffened。“
　　OnFelitzata’sface，assherecountedthis，therewasmanifestanervousexpression。Likewise，herfeatureswereatrifleflushed。Yetgleamingalsothroughthetearsinherlanguorouseyestherewasasenseofrelief——onemightalmosthavesaidasenseofjoy。
　　“Next，“continuedshe，“Ilookedcloserstill，andthenfellonmykneesbeforethebody，sobbing:’0hmydarling，whitherartthoufled？0hGod，whereforehastThoutakenhimfromme？’“
　　HereFelitzatainclinedherheaduponherleftshouldercontractedherbrowsoverhermischievouseyes，claspedherhandstoherbreast，andfellintothelament:
　　Oh，goneismydove，myradiantmoon！
　　0starofmineeyes，thouhastsettoosoon！
　　Indarksomedepthsthylightliesdrown’d，Andtimemustyetcompleteitsround，AndthetrumpoftheSecondAdventsound，Ereevermy——
　　“Here，you！Holdyourtongue！“gruntedVologonovirritably。
　　Formyself，Ihad，thatday，beenwalkingintheforest，until，asIreturned，IwasbroughtupshortbeforethewindowsofFelitzata’scotbythefactthatsomeoftheerstwhileturbulentdenizensofthesuburbwerewhisperingsoftlytogetheras，withanabsenceofallnoise，theytookturnstoraisethemselvesontiptoe，and，craningtheirnecks，topeerintooneoftheblackwindow-spaces。Yes，likebeesonthestepofahivedidtheylook，andonthegreatmajorityoffaces，andinthegreatmajorityofeyes，therewasquiveringanairoftense，nervousexpectancy。
　　OnlyVologonovwasnudgingFelitzata，andsayingtoherinaloud，authoritativetone: