VIII.
Games
The hunt was ended. A rug was spread in the shade of young birch-trees, and the whole company seated themselves on it. Butler Gavrílo had stamped down the juicy green grass around him, and was wiping the plates and taking out of a box plums and peaches that were wrapped in leaves. The sun shone through the green branches of the birches, and cast round, quivering bits of light on the patterns of the rug, on my feet, and even on the bald, perspiring head of Gavrílo. A light breeze that blew through the leafage of the trees, and over my hair and perspiring face, greatly refreshed me.
When we had received our shares of ice-cream and fruit, there was nothing else to do on the rug, and we arose, in spite of the burning, oblique rays of the sun, and went away to play.
"Well, what shall it be?" said Lyúbochka, blinking from the sun and hopping about on the grass. "Let us play Robinson."
"No, that is tiresome," said Volódya, lazily throwing himself on the grass and chewing at some leaves, "that everlasting Robinson! If you want to play something, let us rather build an arbour."
Volódya evidently was playing the great gentleman: he, no doubt, was proud of having come on a hunter's horse, and he pretended he was very tired. But, on the other hand, he may have had too much common sense
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