We still say that we are clever, but our elders go and quarrel with us and say, “No, we had more sense than you.” But the tale tells that, even when our grandfathers had not learned their lessons and our great-great-great-great-grandfathers had not been born, in a certain kingdom, in a certain land, once there lived an old man who had taught his three sons reading and writing.
“Now, children,” he said to them, “I shall die; do you come and read prayers over my grave.”
“Very well, bátyushka ,” the three sons answered. And the two elder brothers were indeed fine lads, and they grew up fine stout fellows; but the youngest, Vanyúshka, 36 was undersized, like a starved duckling, and flat-chested. The old man, their father, died.