In this new world, where the sun hurts one's eyes, there are so
many papas and mammas and aunties, that there is no knowing to whom
to run. But what is stranger and more absurd than anything is the
horses. Grisha gazes at their moving legs, and can make nothing of
it. He looks at his nurse for her to solve the mystery, but she
does not speak.

All at once he hears a fearful tramping. . . . A crowd of soldiers,
with red faces and bath brooms under their arms, move in step along
the boulevard straight upon him. Grisha turns cold all over with
terror, and looks inquiringly at nurse to know whether it is
dangerous. But nurse neither weeps nor runs away, so there is no
danger. Grisha looks after the soldiers, and begins to move his
feet in step with them himself.

Two big cats with long faces run after each other across the
boulevard, with their tongues out, and their tails in the air.
Grisha thinks that he must run too, and runs after the cats.

"Stop!" cries nurse, seizing him roughly by the shoulder. "Where
are you off to? Haven't you been told not to be naughty?"

Here there is a nurse sitting holding a tray of oranges. Grisha
passes by her, and, without saying anything, takes an orange.

"What are you doing that for?" cries the companion of his travels,
slapping his hand and snatching away the orange. "Silly!"

Now Grisha would have liked to pick up a bit of glass that was lying