“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: