1 September is the day of knowledge - important holiday in the lives of all students and pupils. On this day, the first bell sounds for all those who cross the threshold of the school for the first time in their lives. Boys and girls aged 6-7 will sit at their desks for the first time and get acquainted with hitherto unknown sciences. The beginning of a new, adult life gives us this triumph. This day is also important for teachers, as well as other educators, because the academic year, difficult and heavy, as, indeed, all the previous ones.

Traditions of the Day of Knowledge

On September 1, in all cities, villages and villages of our vast country, you can meet schoolchildren joyfully walking to the doors of the educational institution. As a rule, on this day, students wear smart uniforms, girls braid bows, and boys wear bow ties or ties. Schoolchildren give flowers to their class teachers. Also, before the start of classes, a solemn line is held, where the first bell sounds for the youngest schoolchildren, high school students dance a waltz, a music choir sings a song, and the director says congratulations. The line ends with a Peace lesson, which is held in each class, regardless of the age of the students. At the end of the morning official part, adults and children go for a walk in parks and boulevards, some go to nature or cafes.

In higher education institutions, Knowledge Day is an important holiday for first-year students. On this day, they get to know each other for the first time, learn all the details about the difficult life of a student, receive and go on a tour of the university. Senior students are already starting to study on September 1.

History of the Day of Knowledge

Until which completely destroyed all the old traditions and introduced new ones, it was customary to celebrate September 1 New Year, as well as the feast of the harvest. After some events, the New Year's celebration was postponed to January 1. The holiday began to be called “Knowledge Day” only in 1984, it was then that it gave it the status of a state holiday. Despite this, the day of September 1 was educational, free students and schoolchildren were not given that day. Now all the traditions do not come from the state, and not directly from the educational institution, so the director has the right to independently decide whether to hold a solemn line and whether to release students from lessons.

First of all, the holiday was officially approved by the authorities in order to emphasize the importance and high significance of education in the life of a citizen. To date, obtaining a certificate of full general education is a prerequisite, without which no one will be hired either in a higher educational institution or in a job. Whether to graduate from a university or institute, each young citizen has the right to decide on his own, but if your plans also include obtaining a prestigious position, you need a university diploma. You can also enter the institution after the 9th or 11th grade.

Knowledge Day in grade 1 is not much different from a holiday for older students. If you want your child to remember this day forever, prepare with other parents and teachers entertainment program with the participation of fairy-tale characters, any children's heroes. And in addition to the performance, you can captivate the guys in fun game with contests and giveaways. This will not only amuse the first-graders, but also bring them together in a new team. High school students can also help with the preparation of the event. Also, do not forget to prepare congratulations for teachers and school administration on Knowledge Day. This holiday is no less important for them than for your children, so let the teachers rejoice with you!

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Summary: AT cognitive fairy tale hare paws The ingenious author Paustovsky says that an old man, along with his grandson, came to the aid of a hare and saved him from certain death. The unfortunate gray hare's hind legs were burned during the fire, and this one did not allow him to run. This story took place on Lake Urzhenskoe. Grandfather Vanya at that moment was on the banks of the river, where he was engaged in hunting. Suddenly he noticed a small young hare, there was a wound on one ear and blood was flowing. He fired from his gun, the bullet did not hit the gray, but only flew past him. From fear, he only set off into the forest even faster. When the grandfather went into the forest to catch up with the hare, smoke and burning got into his throat, and strong gusts of wind brought the burning right to him. He began to turn around and flee from the fire that pursued him. It is not yet known how this story would have ended if on his way he had not met a hare that ran with him. It was very difficult for the poor fellow to run, since his paws were badly burned from the flames of fire. All animals can always very correctly and quickly determine the direction of fire and flame. Grandfather, with the help of a hare, still managed to get out of the burning forest. Stopping by the river and resting a little, he took the wounded hare and brought it to his house. He really wanted to help his savior get back on his feet and began to treat the injured hare. Finding a suitable specialist who could take away the poor animal, as it turned out, is not so easy. To save Vanya, together with his grandfather, he had to carry the hare to the city in order to come to an appointment with the animal doctor Karl Petrovich. You can read the fairy tale Hare's paws online for free on this page. You can listen to it on audio. Leave your feedback and comments after reading this fabulous story.

The text of the fairy tale Hare's paws

Vanya Malyavin came to the veterinarian in our village from Lake Urzhensky and brought a small warm hare wrapped in a torn wadded jacket. The hare was crying and often blinking his eyes red from tears ...
- Are you crazy? shouted the vet. - Soon you'll be dragging mice to me, bald!
“Don’t bark, this is a special hare,” Vanya said in a hoarse whisper. - His grandfather sent, ordered to treat.
- From what to treat something?
- His paws are burned.
The veterinarian turned Vanya to face the door,
pushed in the back and shouted after:
- Get on, get on! I can't heal them. Fry it with onions - grandfather will have a snack.
Vanya did not answer. He went out into the passage, blinked his eyes, pulled his nose and bumped into a log wall. Tears ran down the wall. The hare shivered quietly under the greasy jacket.
What are you, little one? - the compassionate grandmother Anisya asked Vanya; she brought her only goat to the vet. Why are you, my dear ones, shedding tears together? Ay what happened?
- He is burned, grandfather hare, - Vanya said quietly. - He burned his paws in a forest fire, he cannot run. Here, look, die.
"Don't die, little one," Anisya muttered. - Tell your grandfather, if he has a great desire to go out a hare, let him carry him to the city to Karl Petrovich.
Vanya wiped away his tears and went home through the woods to Lake Urzhenskoye. He did not walk, but ran barefoot on a hot sandy road. A recent forest fire passed by, to the north, near the lake itself. There was a smell of burning and dry cloves. It grew in large islands in glades.
The hare moaned.
Vanya found on the way fluffy, covered with silver soft hair leaves, pulled them out, put them under the pine tree and turned the hare around. The hare looked at the leaves, buried his head in them and fell silent.
What are you, grey? Vanya asked quietly. - You should eat.
The hare was silent.
“You should have eaten,” Vanya repeated, and his voice trembled. - Do you want to drink?
The hare moved his torn ear and closed his eyes.
Vanya took him in his arms and ran straight through the forest - he had to quickly give the hare a drink from the lake.
Unheard-of heat stood that summer over the forests. In the morning, strings of dense white clouds floated up. At noon, the clouds were rapidly rushing up to the zenith, and before our eyes they were carried away and disappeared somewhere beyond the boundaries of the sky. The hot hurricane had been blowing for two weeks without a break. The resin flowing down the pine trunks turned into an amber stone.
The next morning, grandfather put on clean shoes and new bast shoes, took a staff and a piece of bread and wandered into the city. Vanya carried the hare from behind.
The hare was completely quiet, only occasionally shuddered all over and sighed convulsively.
Dry wind blew a cloud of dust over the city, soft as flour. Chicken fluff, dry leaves and straw flew in it. From a distance it seemed that a quiet fire was smoking over the city.
The market square was very empty, sultry; the cab horses were dozing near the water booth, and on their heads they were wearing straw hats. Grandfather crossed himself.
- Not the horse, not the bride - the jester will sort them out! he said and spat.
Passers-by were asked for a long time about Karl Petrovich, but no one really answered anything. We went to the pharmacy. A fat old man in pince-nez and in a short white coat shrugged his shoulders angrily and said:
- I like it! Pretty weird question! Karl Petrovich Korsh, a specialist in childhood diseases, has stopped seeing patients for three years. Why do you need him?
Grandfather, stuttering from respect for the pharmacist and from timidity, told about the hare.
- I like it! said the pharmacist. - Interesting patients wound up in our city! I like this wonderful!
He nervously took off his pince-nez, wiped it, put it back on his nose and stared at his grandfather. Grandfather was silent and stomped. The pharmacist was also silent. The silence was becoming painful.
- Post street, three! - suddenly the pharmacist shouted in his hearts and slammed some disheveled thick book. - Three!
Grandfather and Vanya made it to Postal Street just in time - a high thunderstorm was setting in from behind the Oka. Lazy thunder stretched over the horizon, as a sleepy strongman straightened his shoulders, and reluctantly shook the earth. Gray ripples went along the river. Noiseless lightnings surreptitiously, but swiftly and strongly struck the meadows; far beyond the Glades, a haystack, lit by them, was already burning. Large drops of rain fell on the dusty road, and soon it became like the surface of the moon: each drop left a small crater in the dust.
Karl Petrovich was playing something sad and melodic on the piano when his grandfather's disheveled beard appeared in the window.
A minute later Karl Petrovich was already angry.
"I'm not a veterinarian," he said, and slammed the lid of the piano shut. Immediately thunder rumbled in the meadows. - All my life I have treated children, not hares.
- What a child, what a hare - all the same, - stubbornly muttered the grandfather. - All the same! Lie down, show mercy! Our veterinarian has no jurisdiction over such matters. He horse-drawn for us. This hare, one might say, is my savior: I owe him my life, I must show gratitude, and you say - quit!
A minute later, Karl Petrovich, an old man with gray, tousled eyebrows, was anxiously listening to his grandfather's stumbling story.
Karl Petrovich finally agreed to treat the hare. The next morning, grandfather went to the lake, and left Vanya with Karl Petrovich to follow the hare.
A day later, the entire Pochtovaya Street, overgrown with goose grass, already knew that Karl Petrovich was treating a hare that had been burned in a terrible forest fire and had saved some old man. Two days later, the whole small town already knew about this, and on the third day a long young man in a felt hat came to Karl Petrovich, introduced himself as an employee of a Moscow newspaper and asked for a conversation about a hare.
The hare was cured. Vanya wrapped him in a cotton rag and carried him home. Soon the story of the hare was forgotten, and only some Moscow professor tried for a long time to get his grandfather to sell him the hare. He even sent letters with stamps to answer. But my grandfather did not give up. Under his dictation, Vanya wrote a letter to the professor:
“The hare is not corrupt, a living soul, let him live in the wild. At the same time, I remain Larion Malyavin.
This autumn I spent the night with my grandfather Larion on Lake Urzhenskoe. The constellations, cold as grains of ice, floated in the water. Noisy dry reeds. The ducks shivered in the thickets and plaintively quacked all night.
Grandpa couldn't sleep. He sat by the stove and repaired a torn fishing net. Then he put the samovar on - the windows in the hut immediately fogged up from it, and the stars turned from fiery points into muddy balls. Murzik was barking in the yard. He jumped into the darkness, clanged his teeth and bounced off - he fought with the impenetrable October night. The hare slept in the passage and occasionally in his sleep he loudly pounded with his hind paw on a rotten floorboard.
We drank tea at night, waiting for the distant and indecisive dawn, and over tea my grandfather finally told me the story of the hare.
In August, my grandfather went hunting on the northern shore of the lake. The forests were dry as gunpowder. Grandfather got a hare with a torn left ear. Grandfather shot him with an old, wire-bound gun, but missed. The hare got away.
The grandfather went on. But suddenly he became alarmed: from the south, from the side of Lopukhov, there was a strong smell of burning. The wind got stronger. The smoke thickened, it was already carried in a white veil through the forest, the bushes were drawn in. It became difficult to breathe.
Grandfather realized that a forest fire had started and the fire was coming right at him. The wind turned into a hurricane. Fire drove across the ground at an unheard of speed. According to my grandfather, even a train could not escape such a fire. Grandfather was right: during the hurricane, the fire went at a speed of thirty kilometers per hour.
Grandfather ran over the bumps, stumbled, fell, the smoke was eating away at his eyes, and behind him a wide rumble and crackle of the flame was already audible.
Death overtook the grandfather, grabbed him by the shoulders, and at that time a hare jumped out from under the grandfather's feet. He ran slowly and dragged his hind legs. Then only the grandfather noticed that they were burned by the hare.
Grandfather was delighted with the hare, as if it were his own. Like an old forest dweller, grandfather knew that animals were much better than a man they smell where the fire comes from, and they always save themselves. They die only in those rare cases when the fire surrounds them.
The grandfather ran after the rabbit. He ran, crying with fear and shouting: “Wait, dear, don’t run so fast!”
The hare brought grandfather out of the fire. When they ran out of the forest to the lake, the hare and grandfather both fell down from fatigue. Grandfather picked up the hare and carried it home.
The hare had scorched hind legs and belly. Then his grandfather cured him and left him.
- Yes, - said the grandfather, looking at the samovar so angrily, as if the samovar was to blame for everything, - yes, but in front of that hare, it turns out that I was very guilty, dear man.
- What did you do wrong?
- And you go out, look at the hare, at my savior, then you will know. Get a flashlight!
I took a lantern from the table and went out into the vestibule. The hare was sleeping. I bent over him with a lantern and noticed that the left ear of the hare was torn. Then I understood everything.

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Konstantin Paustovsky

hare paws

Vanya Malyavin came to the veterinarian in our village from Lake Urzhensk and brought a small warm hare wrapped in a torn wadded jacket. The hare was crying and blinking his eyes red with tears...
- Are you crazy? shouted the vet. - Soon you'll be dragging mice to me, bald!
“Don’t bark, this is a special hare,” Vanya said in a hoarse whisper. His grandfather sent, ordered to treat.
- From what to treat something?
- His paws are burned.
The veterinarian turned Vanya to face the door, pushed him in the back and shouted after him:
- Get on, get on! I can't heal them. Fry it with onions - grandfather will have a snack.
Vanya did not answer. He went out into the passage, blinked his eyes, pulled his nose and bumped into a log wall. Tears flowed down the wall. The hare shivered quietly under the greasy jacket.
What are you, little one? - the compassionate grandmother Anisya asked Vanya; she brought her only goat to the veterinarian. - Why are you, my dears, shedding tears together? Ay what happened?
- He is burned, grandfather hare, - Vanya said quietly. - In a forest fire, he burned his paws, he cannot run. Here, look, die.
"Don't die, little one," Anisya muttered. - Tell your grandfather, if he has a great desire to go out a hare, let him carry him to the city to Karl Petrovich.
Vanya wiped away his tears and went home through the woods to Lake Urzhenskoye. He did not walk, but ran barefoot along the hot sandy road. A recent forest fire moved northward near the lake itself. There was a smell of burning and dry cloves. It grew in large islands in glades.
The hare moaned.
Vanya found fluffy leaves covered with soft silver hair on the way, pulled them out, put them under a pine tree and turned the hare around. The hare looked at the leaves, buried his head in them and fell silent.
What are you, grey? Vanya asked quietly. - You should eat.
The hare was silent.
“You should have eaten,” Vanya repeated, and his voice trembled. - Do you want to drink?
The hare moved his ragged ear and closed his eyes.
Vanya took him in his arms and ran straight through the forest - he had to quickly give the hare a drink from the lake.
Unheard-of heat stood that summer over the forests. In the morning, strings of white clouds floated up. At noon, the clouds were rapidly rushing up to the zenith, and before our eyes they were carried away and disappeared somewhere beyond the boundaries of the sky. The hot hurricane had been blowing for two weeks without a break. The resin flowing down the pine trunks turned into an amber stone.
The next morning, grandfather put on clean shoes[i] and new bast shoes, took a staff and a piece of bread and wandered into the city. Vanya carried the hare from behind. The hare was completely quiet, only occasionally shuddered all over and sighed convulsively.
Dry wind blew a cloud of dust over the city, soft as flour. Chicken fluff, dry leaves and straw flew in it. From a distance it seemed that a quiet fire was smoking over the city.
The market square was very empty, sultry; the cab horses dozed near the water booth, and they wore straw hats on their heads. Grandfather crossed himself.
- Not the horse, not the bride - the jester will sort them out! he said and spat.
Passers-by were asked for a long time about Karl Petrovich, but no one really answered anything. We went to the pharmacy. A fat old man in pince-nez and in a short white coat shrugged his shoulders angrily and said:
- I like it! Pretty weird question! Karl Petrovich Korsh, a specialist in childhood diseases, has stopped seeing patients for three years now. Why do you need him?
Grandfather, stuttering from respect for the pharmacist and from timidity, told about the hare.
- I like it! said the pharmacist. - Interesting patients wound up in our city. I like this wonderful!
He nervously took off his pince-nez, wiped it, put it back on his nose and stared at his grandfather. Grandfather was silent and stomped on the spot. The pharmacist was also silent. The silence was becoming painful.
- Post street, three! - suddenly the pharmacist shouted in his hearts and slammed some disheveled thick book. - Three!
Grandfather and Vanya made it to Postal Street just in time - a high thunderstorm was setting in from behind the Oka. Lazy thunder stretched over the horizon, like a sleepy strongman straightening his shoulders and reluctantly shaking the ground. Gray ripples went along the river. Noiseless lightnings surreptitiously, but swiftly and strongly struck the meadows; far beyond the Glades, a haystack, lit by them, was already burning. Large drops of rain fell on the dusty road, and soon it became like the surface of the moon: each drop left a small crater in the dust.
Karl Petrovich was playing something sad and melodious on the piano when his grandfather's disheveled beard appeared in the window.
A minute later Karl Petrovich was already angry.
"I'm not a veterinarian," he said, and slammed the lid of the piano shut. Immediately thunder rumbled in the meadows. - All my life I have treated children, not hares.
- What a child, what a hare - all the same, - stubbornly muttered the grandfather. - All the same! Lie down, show mercy! Our veterinarian has no jurisdiction over such matters. He horse-drawn for us. This hare, one might say, is my savior: I owe him my life, I must show gratitude, and you say - quit!
A minute later, Karl Petrovich - an old man with gray, tousled eyebrows - listened excitedly to his grandfather's stumbling story.
Karl Petrovich finally agreed to treat the hare. The next morning, grandfather went to the lake, and left Vanya with Karl Petrovich to go after the hare.
A day later, the entire Pochtovaya Street, overgrown with goose grass, already knew that Karl Petrovich was treating a hare that had been burned in a terrible forest fire and had saved some old man. Two days later, the whole small town already knew about this, and on the third day a long young man in a felt hat came to Karl Petrovich, introduced himself as an employee of a Moscow newspaper and asked him to talk about a hare.
The hare was cured. Vanya wrapped him in a cotton rag and carried him home. Soon the story of the hare was forgotten, and only some Moscow professor tried for a long time to get his grandfather to sell him the hare. He even sent letters with stamps to answer. But my grandfather did not give up. Under his dictation, Vanya wrote a letter to the professor:
The hare is not corrupt, a living soul, let him live in the wild. At the same time, I remain Larion Malyavin.
... This autumn I spent the night with my grandfather Larion on Lake Urzhenskoye. The constellations, cold as grains of ice, floated in the water. Noisy dry reeds. The ducks shivered in the thickets and plaintively quacked all night.
Grandpa couldn't sleep. He sat by the stove and repaired a torn fishing net. Then he put the samovar - from it the windows in the hut immediately fogged up and the stars from fiery points turned into muddy balls. Murzik was barking in the yard. He jumped into the darkness, chattered his teeth and bounced off - he fought with the impenetrable October night. The hare slept in the passage and occasionally in his sleep he loudly pounded with his hind paw on a rotten floorboard.
We drank tea at night, waiting for the distant and indecisive dawn, and over tea my grandfather finally told me the story of the hare.
In August, my grandfather went hunting on the northern shore of the lake. The forests were dry as gunpowder. Grandfather got a hare with a torn left ear. Grandfather shot him with an old, wire-bound gun, but missed. The hare got away.
Grandpa went on. But suddenly he became alarmed: from the south, from the side of Lopukhov, there was a strong smell of burning. The wind got stronger. The smoke thickened, it was already carried in a white veil through the forest, the bushes were drawn in. It became difficult to breathe.
Grandfather realized that a forest fire had started and the fire was coming straight at him. The wind turned into a hurricane. Fire drove across the ground at an unheard of speed. According to my grandfather, even a train could not escape such a fire. Grandfather was right: during the hurricane, the fire went at a speed of thirty kilometers per hour.
Grandfather ran over the bumps, stumbled, fell, the smoke was eating away at his eyes, and behind him a wide rumble and crackle of the flame was already audible.
Death overtook the grandfather, grabbed him by the shoulders, and at that time a hare jumped out from under the grandfather's feet. He ran slowly and dragged his hind legs. Then only the grandfather noticed that they were burned by the hare.
Grandfather was delighted with the hare, as if it were his own. As an old forest dweller, grandfather knew that animals can smell where the fire comes from much better than humans, and always escape. They die only in those rare cases when the fire surrounds them.
The grandfather ran after the rabbit. He ran, crying with fear and shouting: "Wait, dear, don't run so fast!"
The hare brought grandfather out of the fire. When they ran out of the forest to the lake, the hare and grandfather both fell down from fatigue. Grandfather picked up the hare and carried it home. The hare had scorched hind legs and belly. Then his grandfather cured him and left him.
- Yes, - said the grandfather, looking at the samovar so angrily, as if the samovar was to blame for everything, - yes, but in front of that hare, it turns out that I was very guilty, dear man.
- What did you do wrong?
- And you go out, look at the hare, at my savior, then you will know. Get a flashlight!
I took a lantern from the table and went out into the vestibule. The hare was sleeping. I bent over him with a lantern and noticed that the left ear of the hare was torn. Then I understood everything.

Vanya Malyavin came to the veterinarian in our village from Lake Urzhensk and brought a small warm hare wrapped in a torn wadded jacket. The hare was crying and blinking his eyes red with tears...

— Are you crazy? shouted the vet. “Soon you’ll be dragging mice to me, you barehead!”

“Don’t bark, this is a special hare,” Vanya said in a hoarse whisper. - His grandfather sent, ordered to treat.

- From what to treat something?

- His paws are burned.

The veterinarian turned Vanya to face the door, pushed him in the back and shouted after him:

— Get on, get on! I can't heal them. Fry it with onions - grandfather will have a snack.

Vanya did not answer. He went out into the passage, blinked his eyes, pulled his nose and bumped into a log wall. Tears flowed down the wall. The hare shivered quietly under the greasy jacket.

What are you, little one? the compassionate grandmother Anisya asked Vanya; she brought her only goat to the vet. “Why are you, dear ones, shedding tears together? Ay what happened?

“He is burnt, grandfather hare,” Vanya said quietly. - In a forest fire, he burned his paws, he cannot run. Here, look, die.

"Don't die, little one," Anisya muttered. - Tell your grandfather, if he has a great desire to go out, let him carry him to the city to Karl Petrovich.

Vanya wiped away his tears and went home through the woods to Lake Urzhenskoye. He did not walk, but ran barefoot along the hot sandy road. A recent forest fire moved northward near the lake itself. There was a smell of burning and dry cloves. It grew in large islands in glades.

The hare moaned.

Vanya found fluffy leaves covered with soft silver hair on the way, pulled them out, put them under a pine tree and turned the hare around. The hare looked at the leaves, buried his head in them and fell silent.

What are you, grey? Vanya asked quietly. - You should eat.

The hare was silent.

The hare moved his ragged ear and closed his eyes.

Vanya took him in his arms and ran straight through the forest - he had to quickly give the hare a drink from the lake.

Unheard-of heat stood that summer over the forests. In the morning, strings of white clouds floated up. At noon, the clouds were rapidly rushing up to the zenith, and before our eyes they were carried away and disappeared somewhere beyond the boundaries of the sky. The hot hurricane had been blowing for two weeks without a break. The resin flowing down the pine trunks turned into an amber stone.

The next morning, grandfather put on clean shoes and new bast shoes, took a staff and a piece of bread and wandered into the city.

Vanya carried the hare from behind. The hare was completely quiet, only occasionally shuddered all over and sighed convulsively.

Dry wind blew a cloud of dust over the city, soft as flour. Chicken fluff, dry leaves and straw flew in it. From a distance it seemed that a quiet fire was smoking over the city.

The market square was very empty, sultry; the cab horses dozed near the water booth, and they wore straw hats on their heads.

Grandfather crossed himself.

- Not a horse, not a bride - the jester will sort them out! he said and spat.

Passers-by were asked for a long time about Karl Petrovich, but no one really answered anything. We went to the pharmacy. A fat old man in pince-nez and in a short white coat shrugged his shoulders angrily and said:

- I like it! Pretty weird question! Karl Petrovich Korsh, a specialist in childhood diseases, has stopped seeing patients for three years now. Why do you need him?

Grandfather, stuttering from respect for the pharmacist and from timidity, told about the hare.

- I like it! the pharmacist said. - Interesting patients wound up in our city. I like this wonderful!

He nervously took off his pince-nez, wiped it, put it back on his nose and stared at his grandfather. Grandfather was silent and stomped on the spot. The pharmacist was also silent. The silence was becoming painful.

— Post street, three! the pharmacist suddenly shouted in his heart and slammed a thick disheveled book shut. - Three!

Grandfather and Vanya made it to Pochtovaya Street just in time - a high thunderstorm was setting in from behind the Oka.

Lazy thunder stretched over the horizon, like a sleepy strongman straightening his shoulders and reluctantly shaking the ground. Gray ripples went along the river. Noiseless lightnings surreptitiously, but swiftly and strongly struck the meadows; far beyond the Glades, a haystack, lit by them, was already burning. Large drops of rain fell on the dusty road, and soon it became like the surface of the moon: each drop left a small crater in the dust.

Karl Petrovich was playing something sad and melodious on the piano when his grandfather's disheveled beard appeared in the window.

A minute later Karl Petrovich was already angry.

“I'm not a veterinarian,” he said, and slammed the lid of the piano shut. Immediately thunder rumbled in the meadows. - All my life I have been treating children, not hares.

“What a child, what a hare, it’s all the same,” grandfather muttered stubbornly. — All the same! Lie down, show mercy! Our veterinarian has no jurisdiction over such matters. He horse-drawn for us. This hare, one might say, is my savior: I owe him my life, I must show gratitude, and you say - quit!

A minute later Karl Petrovich—an old man with gray, tousled eyebrows—was anxiously listening to his grandfather's stumbling story.

Karl Petrovich finally agreed to treat the hare. The next morning, grandfather went to the lake, and left Vanya with Karl Petrovich to go after the hare.

A day later, the entire Pochtovaya Street, overgrown with goose grass, already knew that Karl Petrovich was treating a hare that had been burned in a terrible forest fire and had saved some old man. Two days later, the whole small town already knew about this, and on the third day a long young man in a felt hat came to Karl Petrovich, introduced himself as an employee of a Moscow newspaper and asked him to talk about a hare.

The hare was cured. Vanya wrapped him in a cotton rag and carried him home. Soon the story of the hare was forgotten, and only some Moscow professor tried for a long time to get his grandfather to sell him the hare. He even sent letters with stamps to answer. But my grandfather did not give up. Under his dictation, Vanya wrote a letter to the professor:

“The hare is not corrupt, a living soul, let him live in the wild. At the same time, I remain Larion Malyavin.

This autumn I spent the night with my grandfather Larion on Lake Urzhenskoe. The constellations, cold as grains of ice, floated in the water. Noisy dry reeds. The ducks shivered in the thickets and plaintively quacked all night. Grandpa couldn't sleep. He sat by the stove and repaired a torn fishing net. Then he put the samovar on - from it the windows in the hut immediately fogged up and the stars turned from fiery points into muddy balls. Murzik was barking in the yard. He jumped into the darkness, chattered his teeth and bounced off - he fought with the impenetrable October night. The hare slept in the passage and occasionally in his sleep he loudly pounded with his hind paw on a rotten floorboard.

We drank tea at night, waiting for the distant and indecisive dawn, and over tea my grandfather finally told me the story of the hare.

In August, my grandfather went hunting on the northern shore of the lake. The forests were dry as gunpowder. Grandfather got a hare with a torn left ear. Grandfather shot him with an old, wire-bound gun, but missed. The hare got away.

Grandfather realized that a forest fire had started and the fire was coming straight at him. The wind turned into a hurricane. Fire drove across the ground at an unheard of speed. According to my grandfather, even a train could not escape such a fire. Grandfather was right: during the hurricane, the fire went at a speed of thirty kilometers per hour.

Grandfather ran over the bumps, stumbled, fell, the smoke was eating away at his eyes, and behind him a wide rumble and crackle of the flame was already audible.

Death overtook the grandfather, grabbed him by the shoulders, and at that time a hare jumped out from under the grandfather's feet. He ran slowly and dragged his hind legs. Then only the grandfather noticed that they were burned by the hare.

Grandfather was delighted with the hare, as if it were his own. As an old forest dweller, grandfather knew that animals can smell where the fire comes from much better than humans, and always escape. They die only in those rare cases when the fire surrounds them.

The grandfather ran after the rabbit. He ran, crying with fear and shouting: “Wait, dear, don’t run so fast!”

The hare brought grandfather out of the fire. When they ran out of the forest to the lake, the hare and grandfather both fell down from fatigue. Grandfather picked up the hare and carried it home. The hare had scorched hind legs and belly. Then his grandfather cured him and left him.

“Yes,” said the grandfather, looking at the samovar so angrily, as if the samovar was to blame for everything, “yes, but in front of that hare, it turns out that I have been very guilty, dear man.

- What did you do wrong?

- And you go out, look at the hare, at my savior, then you will know. Get a flashlight!

I took a lantern from the table and went out into the vestibule. The hare was sleeping. I bent over him with a lantern and noticed that the left ear of the hare was torn. Then I understood everything.