Dragon to my daughter never forget that i love you blanket

After Mr. Shimerda found the Russians, he went to see them pretty much every night, and now and then took Antonia with him. She said they came from a piece of Russia where the language was not altogether different from Bohemian, and in the event that I needed to go to their place, she could converse with them for me. One evening, before the hefty ices started, we rode up there together on my horse. Dragon to my daughter never forget that i love you blanket. The Russians had a flawless log house based on a green slant, with a windlass well adjacent to the entryway. As we rode up the draw, we avoided a major melon fix, and a nursery where squashes and yellow cucumbers lay about on the turf. We discovered Peter out behind his kitchen, twisting around a washtub. He was buckling down that he didn’t hear us coming. His entire body went all over as he scoured, and he was an amusing sight from the back, with his shaggy head and bandy legs. At the point when he fixed himself up to welcome us, drops of sweat were moving from his thick nose down onto his wavy facial hair. Peter dried his hands and appeared to be happy to leave his washing. He brought us down to see his chickens, and his cow that was eating on the slope. He disclosed to Antonia that in his country just rich individuals had cows, yet here any man could have one who might deal with her. The milk was useful for Pavel, who was regularly debilitated, and he could make margarine by beating sharp cream with a wooden spoon. Peter was attached to his cow. He tapped her flanks and conversed with her in Russian while he pulled up her tether pin and set it in another spot.

After he had shown us his nursery, Peter trundled a heap of watermelons up the slope in his wheeled cart. Pavel was not at home. He was off some place assisting with burrowing a well. The house I thought truly agreeable for two men who were ‘bunching.’ Other than the kitchen, there was a lounge room, with a wide twofold bed worked against the divider, appropriately made up with blue gingham sheets and pads. There was a little storeroom, as well, with a window, where they kept firearms and seats and instruments, and old covers and boots. That day the floor was covered with garden things, drying for winter; corn and beans and fat yellow cucumbers. There were no screens or window-blinds in the house, and all the entryways and windows stood totally open, allowing in flies and daylight the same. Peter put the melons in succession on the oilcloth-shrouded table and remained over them, displaying a butcher blade. Before the cutting edge got decently into them, they split of their own readiness, with a delightful sound. He gave us blades, yet no plates, and the highest point of the table was before long swimming with juice and seeds. I had never seen anybody eat such countless melons as Peter ate. He guaranteed us that they were useful for one- – better than medication; in his nation individuals lived on them during this season. He was entirely accommodating and happy. Once, while he was taking a gander at Antonia, he murmured and disclosed to us that on the off chance that he had remained at home in Russia maybe at this point he would have had his very own beautiful girl to cook and save house for him. He said he had left his country in view of a ‘incredible difficulty.’