Read the story "Hare's Paws" by Paustovsky. Hare's feet

Vanya Malyavin came to the veterinarian in our village from Lake Urzhenskoe and brought a small warm hare wrapped in a torn cotton jacket. The hare cried and often blinked his eyes, red from tears...

Are you crazy? - the veterinarian shouted. “Soon you’ll be bringing mice to me, you fool!”

“Don’t bark, this is a special hare,” Vanya said in a hoarse whisper. His grandfather sent him and ordered him to be treated.

What to treat for?

His paws are burned.

The veterinarian turned Vanya to face the door, pushed him in the back and shouted after him:

Go ahead, go ahead! I don't know how to treat them. Fry it with onions and grandpa will have a snack.

Vanya didn’t answer. He went out into the hallway, blinked his eyes, sniffed and buried himself in the log wall. Tears flowed down the wall. The hare quietly trembled under his greasy jacket.

What are you doing, little one? - the compassionate grandmother Anisya asked Vanya; she brought her only goat to the veterinarian. “Why are you two shedding tears, dear ones?” Oh what happened?

“He’s burned, grandfather’s hare,” Vanya said quietly. - On forest fire He burned his paws and can't run. Look, he's about to die.

“Don’t die, little one,” Anisya muttered. - Tell your grandfather, if he really wants the hare to go out, let him take him to the city to Karl Petrovich.

Vanya wiped away his tears and walked home through the forests to Lake Urzhenskoe. He did not walk, but ran barefoot along the hot sandy road. A recent forest fire burned north near the lake. It smelled of burning and dry cloves. She large islands grew up in the meadows.

The hare moaned.

Vanya found fluffy leaves covered with soft silver hair along the way, tore them out, put them under a pine tree and turned the hare around. The hare looked at the leaves, buried his head in them and fell silent.

What are you doing, gray? - Vanya asked quietly. - You should eat.

The hare was silent.

The hare moved his ragged ear and closed his eyes.

Vanya took him in his arms and ran straight through the forest - he had to quickly let the hare drink from the lake.

There was unheard-of heat over the forests that summer. In the morning, strings of white clouds floated in. At noon, the clouds quickly rushed upward, towards the zenith, and before our eyes they were carried away and disappeared somewhere beyond the boundaries of the sky. The hot hurricane had been blowing for two weeks without a break. The resin flowing down the pine trunks turned into amber stone.

The next morning, the grandfather put on clean onuchi [foot wraps under a boot or bast shoe, footcloth] and new bast shoes, took a staff and a piece of bread and wandered into the city. Vanya carried the hare from behind. The hare became completely silent, only occasionally shuddering with his whole body and sighing convulsively.

The dry wind blew up a cloud of dust over the city, soft as flour. Chicken fluff, dry leaves and straw were flying in it. From a distance it seemed as if a quiet fire was smoking over the city.

The market square was very empty and hot; The carriage horses were dozing near the water shed, and they had straw hats on their heads. Grandfather crossed himself.

Either a horse or a bride - the jester will sort them out! - he said and spat.

They asked passersby for a long time about Karl Petrovich, but no one really answered anything. We went to the pharmacy. Thick old man wearing pince-nez and a short white robe, he shrugged his shoulders angrily and said:

I like this! Enough strange question! Karl Petrovich Korsh, a specialist in childhood diseases, has stopped seeing patients for three years now. Why do you need it?

The grandfather, stuttering from respect for the pharmacist and from timidity, told about the hare.

I like this! - said the pharmacist. - There are some interesting patients in our city. I like this great!

He nervously took off his pince-nez, wiped it, put it back on his nose and stared at his grandfather. Grandfather was silent and stood still. The pharmacist was also silent. The silence became painful.

Poshtovaya street, three! - the pharmacist suddenly shouted in anger and slammed some disheveled thick book. - Three!

Grandfather and Vanya reached Pochtovaya Street just in time - a high thunderstorm was setting in from behind the Oka River. Lazy thunder stretched across the horizon, like a sleepy strongman straightening his shoulders and reluctantly shaking the ground. Gray ripples went down the river. Silent lightning surreptitiously, but swiftly and strongly struck the meadows; Far beyond the Glades, a haystack that they had lit was already burning. Large drops of rain fell on the dusty road, and soon it became like the lunar surface: each drop left a small crater in the dust.

Karl Petrovich was playing something sad and melodic on the piano when his grandfather’s disheveled beard appeared in the window.

A minute later Karl Petrovich was already angry.

“I’m not a veterinarian,” he said and slammed the lid of the piano. Immediately thunder roared in the meadows. - All my life I have been treating children, not hares.

“A child, a hare, it’s all the same,” the grandfather muttered stubbornly. - It’s all the same! Heal, show mercy! Our veterinarian has no jurisdiction over such matters. He horse-rided for us. This hare, one might say, is my savior: I owe him my life, I must show gratitude, but you say - quit!

A minute later, Karl Petrovich, an old man with gray ruffled eyebrows, worriedly listened to his grandfather’s stumbling story.

Karl Petrovich eventually agreed to treat the hare. The next morning, the grandfather went to the lake, and left Vanya with Karl Petrovich to go after the hare.

A day later, the entire Pochtovaya Street, overgrown with goose grass, already knew that Karl Petrovich was treating a hare that had been burned in a terrible forest fire and had saved some old man. Two days later everyone already knew about it small town, and on the third day a tall young man in a felt hat came to Karl Petrovich, introduced himself as an employee of a Moscow newspaper and asked for a conversation about the hare.

The hare was cured. Vanya wrapped him in cotton rags and took him home. Soon the story about the hare was forgotten, and only some Moscow professor spent a long time trying to get his grandfather to sell him the hare. He even sent letters with stamps in response. But the grandfather did not give up. Under his dictation, Vanya wrote a letter to the professor:

The hare is not for sale, living soul, let him live in freedom. At the same time, I remain Larion Malyavin.

...This fall I spent the night with Grandfather Larion on Lake Urzhenskoe. Constellations, cold as grains of ice, floated in the water. The dry reeds rustled. The ducks shivered in the thickets and quacked pitifully all night.

Grandfather couldn't sleep. He sat by the stove and repaired the torn fishing net. Then he put on the samovar - it immediately fogged up the windows in the hut and the stars turned from fiery points into cloudy balls. Murzik was barking in the yard. He jumped into the darkness, flashed his teeth and jumped back - he fought with the impenetrable October night. The hare slept in the hallway and occasionally in his sleep loudly clapped his hind paw on the rotten floorboard.

We drank tea at night, waiting for the distant and hesitant dawn, and over tea my grandfather finally told me the story about the hare.

In August, my grandfather went hunting on the northern shore of the lake. The forests were as dry as gunpowder. Grandfather came across a little hare with a torn left ear. The grandfather shot at him with an old gun tied with wire, but missed. The hare ran away.

The grandfather realized that a forest fire had started and the fire was coming straight towards him. The wind turned into a hurricane. The fire raced across the ground at an unheard of speed. According to the grandfather, even a train could not escape such a fire. Grandfather was right: during the hurricane, the fire moved at a speed of thirty kilometers per hour.

Grandfather ran over the bumps, stumbled, fell, the smoke ate his eyes, and behind him a wide roar and crackle of flames could already be heard.

Death overtook the grandfather, grabbed him by the shoulders, and at that time a hare jumped out from under the grandfather’s feet. He ran slowly and dragged his hind legs. Then only the grandfather noticed that the hare’s hair was burnt.

The grandfather was delighted with the hare, as if it were his own. As an old forest dweller, grandfather knew that animals are much more better than man they sense where the fire is coming from and always escape. They die only in those rare cases when fire surrounds them.

Grandfather ran after the hare. He ran, cried with fear and shouted: “Wait, honey, don’t run so fast!”

The hare brought the grandfather out of the fire. When they ran out of the forest to the lake, the hare and grandfather both fell from fatigue. Grandfather picked up the hare and took it home. The hare's hind legs and stomach were singed. Then his grandfather cured him and kept him with him.

Yes,” said the grandfather, looking at the samovar so angrily, as if the samovar was to blame for everything, “yes, but before that hare, it turns out that I was very guilty, dear man.”

What have you done wrong?

And you go out, look at the hare, at my savior, then you will know. Take a flashlight!

I took the lantern from the table and went out into the hallway. The hare was sleeping. I leaned over him with a flashlight and noticed that left ear the hare's is torn. Then I understood everything.

Konstantin Paustovsky
Hare's feet
Vanya Malyavin came to the veterinarian in our village from Lake Urzhenskoe and brought a small warm hare wrapped in a torn cotton jacket. The hare cried and often blinked his eyes, red from tears...
-Are you crazy? - the veterinarian shouted. “Soon you’ll be bringing mice to me, you fool!”
“Don’t bark, this is a special hare,” Vanya said in a hoarse whisper. His grandfather sent him and ordered him to be treated.
- What to treat for?
- His paws are burned.
The veterinarian turned Vanya to face the door, pushed him in the back and shouted after him:
- Go ahead, go ahead! I don't know how to treat them. Fry it with onions and grandpa will have a snack.
Vanya didn’t answer. He went out into the hallway, blinked his eyes, sniffed and buried himself in the log wall. Tears flowed down the wall. The hare quietly trembled under his greasy jacket.
- What are you doing, little one? - the compassionate grandmother Anisya asked Vanya; she brought her only goat to the veterinarian. “Why are you two shedding tears, dear ones?” Oh what happened?
“He’s burned, grandfather’s hare,” Vanya said quietly. - He burned his paws in a forest fire, he can’t run. Look, he's about to die.
“Don’t die, kid,” Anisya muttered. “Tell your grandfather, if he really wants the hare to go out, let him take him to the city to see Karl Petrovich.”
Vanya wiped away his tears and walked home through the forests to Lake Urzhenskoe. He did not walk, but ran barefoot along the hot sandy road. A recent forest fire burned north near the lake. It smelled of burning and dry cloves. It grew in large islands in the clearings.
The hare moaned.
Vanya found fluffy leaves covered with soft silver hair along the way, tore them out, put them under a pine tree and turned the hare around. The hare looked at the leaves, buried his head in them and fell silent.
- What are you doing, gray? - Vanya asked quietly. - You should eat.
The hare was silent.
“You should eat,” Vanya repeated, and his voice trembled. - Maybe you want a drink?
The hare moved his ragged ear and closed his eyes.
Vanya took him in his arms and ran straight through the forest - he had to quickly let the hare drink from the lake.
There was unheard-of heat over the forests that summer. In the morning, strings of white clouds floated in. At noon, the clouds quickly rushed upward, towards the zenith, and before our eyes they were carried away and disappeared somewhere beyond the boundaries of the sky. The hot hurricane had been blowing for two weeks without a break. The resin flowing down the pine trunks turned into amber stone.
The next morning the grandfather put on clean boots[i] and new bast shoes, took a staff and a piece of bread and wandered into the city. Vanya carried the hare from behind. The hare became completely silent, only occasionally shuddering with his whole body and sighing convulsively.
The dry wind blew up a cloud of dust over the city, soft as flour. Chicken fluff, dry leaves and straw were flying in it. From a distance it seemed as if a quiet fire was smoking over the city.
The market square was very empty and hot; the carriage horses were dozing near the water-shed, and they had straw hats on their heads. Grandfather crossed himself.
- Either a horse or a bride - the jester will sort them out! - he said and spat.
They asked passersby for a long time about Karl Petrovich, but no one really answered anything. We went to the pharmacy. A fat old man in pince-nez and a short white robe shrugged his shoulders angrily and said:
- I like this! Quite a strange question! Karl Petrovich Korsh, a specialist in childhood diseases, has stopped seeing patients for three years now. Why do you need it?
The grandfather, stuttering from respect for the pharmacist and from timidity, told about the hare.
- I like this! - said the pharmacist. -- There are some interesting patients in our city. I like this great!
He nervously took off his pince-nez, wiped it, put it back on his nose and stared at his grandfather. Grandfather was silent and stood still. The pharmacist was also silent. The silence became painful.
- Poshtovaya street, three! - the pharmacist suddenly shouted in anger and slammed some disheveled thick book. - Three!
Grandfather and Vanya reached Pochtovaya Street just in time - a high thunderstorm was setting in from behind the Oka River. Lazy thunder stretched across the horizon, like a sleepy strongman straightening his shoulders and reluctantly shaking the ground. Gray ripples went down the river. Silent lightning surreptitiously, but swiftly and strongly struck the meadows; Far beyond the Glades, a haystack that they had lit was already burning. Large drops of rain fell on the dusty road, and soon it became like the surface of the moon: each drop left a small crater in the dust.
Karl Petrovich was playing something sad and melodic on the piano when his grandfather’s disheveled beard appeared in the window.
A minute later Karl Petrovich was already angry.
“I’m not a veterinarian,” he said and slammed the lid of the piano. Immediately thunder roared in the meadows. - All my life I have been treating children, not hares.
“A child and a hare are all the same,” the grandfather muttered stubbornly. - It’s all the same! Heal, show mercy! Our veterinarian has no jurisdiction over such matters. He horse-rided for us. This hare, one might say, is my savior: I owe him my life, I must show gratitude, but you say - quit!
A minute later, Karl Petrovich, an old man with gray ruffled eyebrows, worriedly listened to his grandfather’s stumbling story.
Karl Petrovich eventually agreed to treat the hare. The next morning, the grandfather went to the lake, and left Vanya with Karl Petrovich to go after the hare.
A day later, the entire Pochtovaya Street, overgrown with goose grass, already knew that Karl Petrovich was treating a hare that had been burned in a terrible forest fire and had saved some old man. Two days later the whole small town already knew about this, and on the third day a long young man in a felt hat came to Karl Petrovich, introduced himself as an employee of a Moscow newspaper and asked for a conversation about the hare.
The hare was cured. Vanya wrapped him in cotton rags and took him home. Soon the story about the hare was forgotten, and only some Moscow professor spent a long time trying to get his grandfather to sell him the hare. He even sent letters with stamps in response. But the grandfather did not give up. Under his dictation, Vanya wrote a letter to the professor:
The hare is not corrupt, he is a living soul, let him live in freedom. At the same time, I remain Larion Malyavin.
...This fall I spent the night with Grandfather Larion on Lake Urzhenskoe. Constellations, cold as grains of ice, floated in the water. The dry reeds rustled. The ducks shivered in the thickets and quacked pitifully all night.
Grandfather couldn't sleep. He sat by the stove and mended a torn fishing net. Then he put on the samovar - it immediately fogged up the windows in the hut and the stars turned from fiery points into cloudy balls. Murzik was barking in the yard. He jumped into the darkness, flashed his teeth and jumped back - he fought with the impenetrable October night. The hare slept in the hallway and occasionally in his sleep loudly clapped his hind paw on the rotten floorboard.
We drank tea at night, waiting for the distant and hesitant dawn, and over tea my grandfather finally told me the story about the hare.
In August, my grandfather went hunting on the northern shore of the lake. The forests were as dry as gunpowder. Grandfather came across a little hare with a torn left ear. The grandfather shot at him with an old gun tied with wire, but missed. The hare ran away.
Grandfather moved on. But suddenly he became alarmed: from the south, from the side of Lopukhov, there was a strong smell of smoke. The wind rose. The smoke was thickening, it was already drifting like a white veil through the forest, engulfing the bushes. It became difficult to breathe.
The grandfather realized that a forest fire had started and the fire was coming straight towards him. The wind turned into a hurricane. The fire was racing across the ground at an unheard of speed. According to the grandfather, even a train could not escape such a fire. Grandfather was right: during the hurricane, the fire moved at a speed of thirty kilometers per hour.
Grandfather ran over the bumps, stumbled, fell, the smoke ate his eyes, and behind him a wide roar and crackle of flames could already be heard.
Death overtook the grandfather, grabbed him by the shoulders, and at that time a hare jumped out from under the grandfather’s feet. He ran slowly and dragged his hind legs. Then only the grandfather noticed that the hare’s hair was burnt.
The grandfather was delighted with the hare, as if it were his own. As an old forest dweller, my grandfather knew that animals sense where the fire is coming from much better than humans and always escape. They die only in those rare cases when fire surrounds them.
Grandfather ran after the hare. He ran, cried with fear and shouted: “Wait, honey, don’t run so fast!”
The hare brought the grandfather out of the fire. When they ran out of the forest to the lake, the hare and grandfather both fell from fatigue. Grandfather picked up the hare and took it home. The hare's hind legs and stomach were singed. Then his grandfather cured him and kept him with him.
“Yes,” said the grandfather, looking at the samovar so angrily, as if the samovar was to blame for everything, “yes, but before that hare, it turns out that I was very guilty, dear man.”
- What did you do wrong?
- And you go out, look at the hare, at my savior, then you will know. Take a flashlight!
I took the lantern from the table and went out into the hallway. The hare was sleeping. I bent over him with a flashlight and noticed that the hare’s left ear was torn. Then I understood everything.
[i] Onuchi - foot wraps for boots or bast shoes, foot wraps

The grandfather cured and kept a hare with burnt paws, which saved his life - brought him out of a terrible forest fire.

One day in August, grandfather Larion Malyavin went hunting. It was incredibly hot, and the forests were “dry as gunpowder.”

The grandfather tried to shoot the little hare, but missed, and he ran away. Suddenly, smoke came from the south, and the grandfather realized that a forest fire had started. Hurricane wind the fire drove at the speed of a train.

Grandfather ran over the bumps, stumbling and falling, smoke ate his eyes, and flames were already roaring behind him. Suddenly the same hare that he almost shot jumped out from under his feet. Grandfather ran after him.

Animals sense where the fire is coming from much better than humans, and always escape. They die only in those rare cases when fire surrounds them.

The hare led the grandfather to the lake, on the shore of which both fell from fatigue. The hare's hind legs and stomach were burned. The grandfather picked up his savior and took him home.

Vanya Malyavin, the grandson of Larion’s grandfather, brought a hare crying and groaning in pain to the village veterinarian. The boy explained that the hare was special, and his grandfather ordered him to be treated, but the veterinarian did not listen to Vanya and pushed him out of the room.

In the hallway, the boy leaned against the wall and cried out of resentment and pity for the hare. There he was seen by the compassionate grandmother Anisya, who brought her only goat to the veterinarian. Having learned about Vanya’s grief, she advised taking the hare to the city to a certain Karl Petrovich.

The next morning, grandfather Larion put on new bast shoes and went to the city with his grandson. Grandfather learned Karl Petrovich's address from an angry pharmacist.

Karl Petrovich turned out to be not a veterinarian, but a specialist in childhood diseases, and at first he also refused to treat the hare, but after learning how he saved his grandfather’s life, he still agreed. Vanya stayed with the doctor to take care of the animal.

The next day, the whole street knew about the “special” hare, who was burned during a forest fire and saved some old man. Then the whole small town found out about this, and a journalist came to Karl Petrovich, who wanted to write about the hare for a Moscow newspaper.

Soon the hare was cured. Vanya returned home, and they forgot about this story, only some Moscow professor asked his grandfather for a long time to sell him a hare, but Larion flatly refused.

Note. In the original, the story is told by an anonymous eyewitness to the events. He learns the story of the forest fire at the end of the story from his grandfather.

Read the story Hare's Paws for children by Paustovsky

Vanya Malyavin came to the veterinarian in our village from Lake Urzhenskoe and brought a small warm hare wrapped in a torn cotton jacket. The hare was crying and blinking his eyes red from tears often...

Are you crazy? - the veterinarian shouted. “Soon you’ll be bringing mice to me, you fool!”

“Don’t bark, this is a special hare,” Vanya said in a hoarse whisper. - His grandfather sent him and ordered him to be treated.

What to treat for?

His paws are burned.

The veterinarian turned Vanya to face the door, pushed him in the back and shouted after him:

Go ahead, go ahead! I don't know how to treat them. Fry it with onions and grandpa will have a snack.

Vanya didn’t answer. He went out into the hallway, blinked his eyes, sniffed and buried himself in the log wall. Tears flowed down the wall. The hare quietly trembled under his greasy jacket.

What are you doing, little one? - the compassionate grandmother Anisya asked Vanya; she took her only goat to the vet. - Why are you two shedding tears, dear ones? Oh what happened?

“He’s burned, grandfather’s hare,” Vanya said quietly. - He burned his paws in a forest fire, he can’t run. Look, he's about to die.

“Don’t die, little one,” Anisya muttered. “Tell your grandfather, if he really wants the hare to go out, let him take him to the city to see Karl Petrovich.”

Vanya wiped away his tears and walked home through the forests to Lake Urzhenskoe. He did not walk, but ran barefoot along the hot sandy road. A recent forest fire burned north near the lake. It smelled of burning and dry cloves. It grew in large islands in the clearings.

The hare moaned.

Vanya found fluffy leaves covered with soft silver hair along the way, tore them out, put them under a pine tree and turned the hare around. The hare looked at the leaves, buried his head in them and fell silent.

What are you doing, gray? - Vanya asked quietly. - You should eat.

The hare was silent.

The hare moved his ragged ear and closed his eyes.

Vanya took him in his arms and ran straight through the forest - he had to quickly let the hare drink from the lake.

There was unheard-of heat over the forests that summer. In the morning, strings of white clouds floated in. At noon, the clouds quickly rushed upward, towards the zenith, and before our eyes they were carried away and disappeared somewhere beyond the boundaries of the sky. The hot hurricane had been blowing for two weeks without a break. The resin flowing down the pine trunks turned into amber stone.

The next morning the grandfather put on clean boots[i] and new bast shoes, took a staff and a piece of bread and wandered into the city. Vanya carried the hare from behind. The hare became completely silent, only occasionally shuddering with his whole body and sighing convulsively.

The dry wind blew up a cloud of dust over the city, soft as flour. Chicken fluff, dry leaves and straw were flying in it. From a distance it seemed as if a quiet fire was smoking over the city.

The market square was very empty and hot; The carriage horses were dozing near the water shed, and they had straw hats on their heads. Grandfather crossed himself.

Either a horse or a bride - the jester will sort them out! - he said and spat.

They asked passersby for a long time about Karl Petrovich, but no one really answered anything. We went to the pharmacy. A fat old man in pince-nez and a short white robe shrugged his shoulders angrily and said:

I like this! Quite a strange question! Karl Petrovich Korsh, a specialist in childhood diseases, has stopped seeing patients for three years now. Why do you need it?

The grandfather, stuttering from respect for the pharmacist and from timidity, told about the hare.

I like this! - said the pharmacist. -- There are some interesting patients in our city. I like this great!

He nervously took off his pince-nez, wiped it, put it back on his nose and stared at his grandfather. Grandfather was silent and stood still. The pharmacist was also silent. The silence became painful.

Poshtovaya street, three! - the pharmacist suddenly shouted in anger and slammed some disheveled thick book. - Three!

Grandfather and Vanya reached Pochtovaya Street just in time - a high thunderstorm was setting in from behind the Oka River. Lazy thunder stretched across the horizon, like a sleepy strongman straightening his shoulders and reluctantly shaking the ground. Gray ripples went down the river. Silent lightning surreptitiously, but swiftly and strongly struck the meadows; Far beyond the Glades, a haystack that they had lit was already burning. Large drops of rain fell on the dusty road, and soon it became like the lunar surface: each drop left a small crater in the dust.

Karl Petrovich was playing something sad and melodic on the piano when his grandfather’s disheveled beard appeared in the window.

A minute later Karl Petrovich was already angry.

“I’m not a veterinarian,” he said and slammed the lid of the piano. Immediately thunder roared in the meadows. - All my life I have been treating children, not hares.

“A child, a hare, it’s all the same,” the grandfather muttered stubbornly. - It’s all the same! Heal, show mercy! Our veterinarian has no jurisdiction over such matters. He horse-rided for us. This hare, one might say, is my savior: I owe him my life, I must show gratitude, but you say - quit!

A minute later, Karl Petrovich, an old man with gray ruffled eyebrows, worriedly listened to his grandfather’s stumbling story.

Karl Petrovich eventually agreed to treat the hare. The next morning, the grandfather went to the lake, and left Vanya with Karl Petrovich to go after the hare.

A day later, the entire Pochtovaya Street, overgrown with goose grass, already knew that Karl Petrovich was treating a hare that had been burned in a terrible forest fire and had saved some old man. Two days later the whole small town already knew about this, and on the third day a long young man in a felt hat came to Karl Petrovich, introduced himself as an employee of a Moscow newspaper and asked for a conversation about the hare.

The hare was cured. Vanya wrapped him in cotton rags and took him home. Soon the story about the hare was forgotten, and only some Moscow professor spent a long time trying to get his grandfather to sell him the hare. He even sent letters with stamps in response. But the grandfather did not give up. Under his dictation, Vanya wrote a letter to the professor:

The hare is not corrupt, he is a living soul, let him live in freedom. At the same time, I remain Larion Malyavin.

This fall I spent the night with Grandfather Larion on Lake Urzhenskoe. Constellations, cold as grains of ice, floated in the water. The dry reeds rustled. The ducks shivered in the thickets and quacked pitifully all night.

Grandfather couldn't sleep. He sat by the stove and mended a torn fishing net. Then he put on the samovar - it immediately fogged up the windows in the hut and the stars turned from fiery points into cloudy balls. Murzik was barking in the yard. He jumped into the darkness, flashed his teeth and jumped back - he fought with the impenetrable October night. The hare slept in the hallway and occasionally in his sleep loudly clapped his hind paw on the rotten floorboard.

We drank tea at night, waiting for the distant and hesitant dawn, and over tea my grandfather finally told me the story about the hare.

In August, my grandfather went hunting on the northern shore of the lake. The forests were as dry as gunpowder. Grandfather came across a little hare with a torn left ear. The grandfather shot at him with an old gun tied with wire, but missed. The hare ran away.

The grandfather realized that a forest fire had started and the fire was coming straight towards him. The wind turned into a hurricane. The fire was racing across the ground at an unheard of speed. According to the grandfather, even a train could not escape such a fire. Grandfather was right: during the hurricane, the fire moved at a speed of thirty kilometers per hour.

Grandfather ran over the bumps, stumbled, fell, the smoke ate his eyes, and behind him a wide roar and crackle of flames could already be heard.

Death overtook the grandfather, grabbed him by the shoulders, and at that time a hare jumped out from under the grandfather’s feet. He ran slowly and dragged his hind legs. Then only the grandfather noticed that the hare’s hair was burnt.

The grandfather was delighted with the hare, as if it were his own. As an old forest dweller, my grandfather knew that animals sense where the fire is coming from much better than humans and always escape. They die only in those rare cases when fire surrounds them.

Grandfather ran after the hare. He ran, cried with fear and shouted: “Wait, honey, don’t run so fast!”

The hare brought the grandfather out of the fire. When they ran out of the forest to the lake, the hare and grandfather both fell from fatigue. Grandfather picked up the hare and took it home. The hare's hind legs and stomach were singed. Then his grandfather cured him and kept him with him.

Yes,” said the grandfather, looking at the samovar so angrily, as if the samovar was to blame for everything, “yes, but before that hare, it turns out that I was very guilty, dear man.”

What have you done wrong?

And you go out, look at the hare, at my savior, then you will know. Take a flashlight!

I took the lantern from the table and went out into the hallway. The hare was sleeping. I bent over him with a flashlight and noticed that the hare’s left ear was torn. Then I understood everything.

Konstantin Georgievich Paustovsky

Answers to pages 58 – 60

1. Exact word
Where did the events described in the story take place? Write it in.

I came to the veterinarian in our village with Urzhensky lakes Vanya Malyavin brought a small warm hare wrapped in a torn cotton jacket.

2. Thawed patches
The story describes a thunderstorm. Fill in the missing words.

Grandfather and Vanya made it to Pochtovaya Street just in time - Oka was coming in from behind high storm. Lazy thunder stretched over the horizon, like sleepy the strongman straightened his shoulders and reluctantly shook the ground. Gray ripples went down the river. Silent lightning on the sly, but quickly and they hit the meadows hard; far beyond the Glades a haystack was already burning, lit them. Large raindrops were falling to the dusty the road, and soon it looked like to the lunar surface: every drop left dust small crater.

3. Erudite
Find in explanatory dictionary the meaning of the word crater or choose synonyms.

Crater- a depression in the surface of the earth or on the top of a mountain (volcano).

4. Compliance
Make an illustration for the episode from task 2.

5 ∗ . Plan
Create a story plan. Write it down or draw it. Tell me briefly.

1. Vanya at the vet.
2. Returning home.
3. Treatment of a hare.
4. Grandfather's story about the fire.
5. Grandfather's fault.

6. Search
Why was grandfather Larion happy when he met a hare during a fire? Find the answer and underline it.

The grandfather was delighted with the hare, as if it were his own. As an old forest dweller, my grandfather knew that animals sense where fire is coming from much better than humans and always escape. They die only in those rare cases when fire surrounds them.
Grandfather ran after the hare. He ran, cried with fear and shouted: “Wait, honey, don’t run so fast!”
The hare brought the grandfather out of the fire. When they ran out of the forest to the lake, the hare and grandfather both fell from fatigue.