Page:The Kiss and Other Stories by Anton Tchekhoff, 1908.pdf/86

 Nature, being unconscious both of the Gundasoff pedigree and of uncle's official rank, was much freer and more at ease than I. The tumult in the garden reminded me of a fair. Innumerable starlings clove the air, hopped on the paths, and with noise and cries hunted the May-flies. Sparrows rustled in the lilac trees, whose delicate, perfumed blooms stretched out at my face. On all sides orioles sang, hoopoes and hawks flew. On any other occasion I should have hunted the dragon-flies or thrown stones at the crow on the hayrick close by the aspen, and bent its blunt nose, but now I was in no mood for such pranks. My heart palpitated; I felt a chill in my stomach; I prepared to see an epauletted hero with a naked sword and terrible menacing eyes.

Imagine my disappointment! By the side of my mother walked a little, slender fop in white jacket and trousers and white forage cap. With hands in pockets, head thrown back — sometimes almost running in front — he had the air of a mere youth. His figure showed extreme briskness and life, and treacherous age was betrayed only behind by a patch of silver-grey hair under the edge of his cap. Instead of a general's solidity and stiffness, there was a boyish nimbleness; instead of a collar stiff to the ears, an ordinary blue necktie. My mother and my uncle walked down the path and talked. I followed them, waiting patiently till one or the other should turn.