The place fixed on for the stand-shooting was not far above a

stream in a little aspen copse. On reaching the copse, Levin got

out of the trap and led Oblonsky to a corner of a mossy, swampy

glade, already quite free from snow. He went back himself to a

double birch tree on the other side, and leaning his gun on the

fork of a dead lower branch, he took off his full overcoat,

fastened his belt again, and worked his arms to see if they were

free.

Gray old Laska, who had followed them, sat down warily opposite

him and pricked up her ears. The sun was setting behind a thick

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forest, and in the glow of sunset the birch trees, dotted about

in the aspen copse, stood out clearly with their hanging twigs,

and their buds swollen almost to bursting.

From the thickest parts of the copse, where the snow still

remained, came the faint sound of narrow winding threads of water

running away. Tiny birds twittered, and now and then fluttered

from tree to tree.

In the pauses of complete stillness there came the rustle of last

year's leaves, stirred by the thawing of the earth and the growth

of the grass.

"Imagine! One can hear and see the grass growing!" Levin said

to himself, noticing a wet, slate-colored aspen leaf moving

beside a blade of young grass. He stood, listened, and gazed

sometimes down at the wet mossy ground, sometimes at Laska

listening all alert, sometimes at the sea of bare tree tops that

stretched on the slope below him, sometimes at the darkening sky,

covered with white streaks of cloud.

A hawk flew high over a forest far away with slow sweep of its

wings; another flew with exactly the same motion in the same

direction and vanished. The birds twittered more and more loudly

and busily in the thicket. An owl hooted not far off, and Laska,

starting, stepped cautiously a few steps forward, and putting her

head on one side, began to listen intently. Beyond the stream

was heard the cuckoo. Twice she uttered her usual cuckoo call,

and then gave a hoarse, hurried call and broke down.

"Imagine! the cuckoo already!" said Stepan Arkadyevitch, coming

out from behind a bush.

"Yes, I hear it," answered Levin, reluctantly breaking the

stillness with his voice, which sounded disagreeable to himself.

"Now it's coming!"

Stepan Arkadyevitch's figure again went behind the bush, and

Levin saw nothing but the bright flash of a match, followed by

the red glow and blue smoke of a cigarette.

"Tchk! tchk!" came the snapping sound of Stepan Arkadyevitch

cocking his gun.




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