chapter  IX
2 Pages

We Go Out into the Wide World, but It Wears the Same Face

There was a brook in our village, where we children paddled around in the summer and went sliding in the winter. My foster brother, Nikola, said that when we went to sleep at night, together with the horses and the cows and the sheep and all the birds, and someone lit all those millions of candles in the sky, the brook stopped too and rested from running all day.