This lesson made a memorable hour in our lives. I shall never forget it. For some time the children had been promised that I should tell them from the ending, and the other teacher from the beginning, and that thus we should meet. My evening scholars were beginning to disperse; I went to the class of Russian history; the account of Sevastopol was in progress: they were bored. On the high bench three peasant girls wrapped up in shawls were sitting together, as always. One was asleep. Mishka nudged me.
"Look-a-there! See those cuckoos sitting there, and one of them has gone to sleep."
And she was just like a cuckoo.
"Tell from the ending instead," said some one, and all started up.
I sat down and began my story. As was always the case, the confusion, groans, and hubbub lasted several minutes. One climbed on the table; another, on a chair; another, on a bench; another leaned on his mate's shoulder; another sat in her friend's lap; and at last all became quiet.
I began with Alexander I. I told them about the French Revolution, about Napoleon's triumphs, about his usurpation of power, and about the war which ended with the peace of Tilsit.
As soon as Russia began to come into the story, then from all sides were heard sounds and words expressive of lively sympathy.
"Why did he want to conquer us also?"
"Never mind; Alexander will give it to him!" said some one who knew about Alexander I.; but I was obliged to dash their hopes: the time of triumph had not yet come, and they were very much aggrieved because of the scheme that Napoleon should marry the Tsar's sister, and because Alexander spoke with him as an equal at the interview on the raft.
"You just wait!" said Petka, with a threatening gesture.
"Well, well; tell on!"
When Alexander did not give in to Napoleon, that
