Psychotherapeutic fairy tales for adaptation. Therapeutic fairy tales for primary schoolchildren Children's fairy tales for primary schoolchildren

GBPOU KK EPK

Project activities

Topic: fairy tales

Project: Creating a collection of fairy tales

Prepared by student Sh-31 group

Pecherskaya Alena

Teacher: Orel I.A.

Yeisk, 2017

There lived a fox in the forest. She had a small hole in an old stump. In the mornings, the fox came out of its hole and ran through the forest in search of food.

One morning a fox ran to the pond to drink fresh water and catch a fish. She ran to the pond, and the hunters hid in the bushes near it. The little fox got scared and hid.

The hunters had guns and were waiting for the ducks to appear on the pond. When the first ducks swam to the surface of the water from the reeds, the hunters loaded their guns and fell silent. The fox did not like ducks and also often hunted them, but this time she felt sorry for the birds. The ducks were in real trouble.

The little fox ran out of hiding and ran to the ducks in the reeds. She told them that hunters were waiting for their appearance, cleverly hidden in the bushes on the shore of the pond. The ducks did not want to believe the fox. Some of them were already floating on the surface of the water, and nothing happened to them. Therefore, the ducks only laughed at the fox’s warnings and all swam out from the reeds that served them as shelter.

And then something terrible began. Shots were heard. The air smelled of gunpowder. Smoke enveloped the pond. Some ducks managed to rise into the sky, while others tried to return back to the reeds.

The little fox looked at the ducks and became scared. When all the ducks were back in the shelter, the fox calmed down. Fortunately, the hunters missed and none of the ducks were harmed. The ducks thanked the fox for her help: when the hunters left the shore of the pond, they caught her delicious fish. So the fox became best friend ducks.

One day the little fox decided to learn to count. Waking up early in the morning, she ran to the pond and asked her new friends to teach her mathematics. The ducks laughed merrily and promised to teach the fox to count.

“I will stand next to you, little fox, and tell you how many ducks appeared on the pond, and you remember the numbers,” said the old grandmother duck.

One duck swam onto the pond.

Look, little fox, a duck has appeared on the pond.

The fox tried to remember the number one.

Look, little fox, a second duck has swum out of the reeds. Now there are two ducks swimming on the pond. One plus one equals two.

The fox looked at two ducks floating on the water surface.

Look, little fox, a third duck has emerged from the water. How many ducks are swimming on the pond now? Two plus one equals three. So, there are now three ducks swimming on the pond!

The fox was delighted. Now she knew the numbers one, two and three.

Three ducks swam peacefully on the pond and caught fish. Two more ducks swam up to them from the shore. The fox thought.

What is three plus two? – the fox asked the old duck.

Five. Now there are exactly five ducks swimming on the pond,” the grandmother duck answered her.

Suddenly one duck swam back to the shore. The fox knew only the numbers one, two, three and five and could not say how many ducks remained on the surface of the water. Grandma Duck helped her this time too.

There are four ducks left on the pond. Five minus one is four, said the old duck.

Now the fox knew the count to five: one, two, three, four, five.

Once upon a time there lived a hedgehog, Shurshunchik. He lived deep, deep in the forest and only occasionally went out into the clearing to bask in the sun. Shurshunchik collected mushrooms in the morning. A hedgehog walks and walks through the forest, suddenly he encounters a fungus on the way, puts it on his back and drags it back to the hole.

One day, Rustle Chip wandered in search of mushrooms into a pasture where people were grazing cows. The hedgehog saw people, got scared, curled up into a ball, released his needles and lay there, sniffling.

That day, children and adults were herding cows in the meadow. The children noticed an unusual thorny ball hiding next to the bush. They wondered what it was. But Shurshunchik lies and does not move. An adult shepherd approached the children and told them that they had found a real forest hedgehog with long, very long dark brown needles on the back, which were colored cream at the tops. The children liked the beautiful hedgehog and wanted to take it home. Rustle, as if sensing their desire, began to puff, puff, and snort. But the children did not listen to him: they put the hedgehog in a hat so as not to prick themselves, and carried it home.

Rustle was terribly scared. He didn't understand where they were taking him. He didn’t want to leave his native forest at all. Soon the hedgehog was brought into the house and laid on the floor. The grandmother looked at the child’s find and angrily shook her head: “You shouldn’t have brought the hedgehog home from the forest! He lives well in the forest. He won’t be able to live with us.” Grandmother sighed and sighed, but there was nothing to do. She poured milk into the hedgehog's bowl and went about her business.

But for a long time Shurshunchik did not want to crawl out of his prickly needles: he just lay there and puffed. The hedgehog waited for the night. He smelled the milk, drank a little, and then started walking around the room: “Top-top! Top-top! It was so loud that grandma woke up. And Shurshunchik walks and walks and dresses in thorns again, but no one can approach him.

So Shurshunchik lived in the people’s house for two days, until his grandmother took him back to the forest. Shurshunchik was delighted, sensing the smells of his family, and rushed home. On the way, he met a magpie and told her what it was like to live among people, and the magpie then told me this story. I told it to you.

Every summer, Shurshunchik prepared for winter. He collected mushrooms throughout the forest and put them in boxes pre-woven from branches. Every autumn, Shurshunchik counted the number of mushrooms he collected, and he had a hard time. The hedgehog was good at counting to one hundred; he counted the mushrooms one at a time. Sometimes the mushroom harvest was large, and the hedgehog counted the mushrooms in the boxes until late at night.

From the magpie he learned that there was a multiplication table that could greatly simplify counting mushrooms. Magpie promised to visit Rustle Chip one evening and teach him how to use the multiplication table. The hedgehog was looking forward to the magpie's visit. And then she came.

Rustle showed the magpie boxes with collected mushrooms. The bird looked at them carefully. The hedgehog's boxes were the same: there were two of them, and they each held six mushrooms, which fit in two rows of three mushrooms each. It turned out that the width of the box was equal to exactly two mushrooms, and its length – three.

Rustle, mushrooms in one box are easy to calculate if you multiply the number of mushrooms that fit across the width of the box by the number of mushrooms that fit across its width. That is, you need to multiply two by three, the result is six. Let's decipher what it means to multiply two by three. This means that you add the number two three times. Look: 2+2+2 = 6.

And, it’s true,” said Rustle, fiddling with the needles on the top of his head with his paw.

Imagine if you had exactly two mushrooms in your box. The width of the box would then be equal to two mushrooms, and its length to one. You would multiply two by one and get two. Two times one means that the number two is repeated only once: 2=2.

I don't have such small boxes, forty. I have only two boxes that hold six mushrooms each, and every time in the fall I have to count the number of mushrooms in these boxes, one mushroom at a time! - Shurshunchik puffed.

Don’t worry, Rustle, we will count the number of mushrooms in these two boxes. Now we know how to quickly count the number of mushrooms in each of them!

But it will have to be added again! – the hedgehog grumbled, sadly lowering his eyes to the floor.

Not at all! You can also multiply! You know that the number of mushrooms in the boxes is the same and it is equal to six! And there are only two drawers! You just multiply two by six and find out the number of mushrooms in two boxes at once! - said the magpie.

Shurshunchik thought. He did not yet know how much two multiplied by six would be and how these numbers could be deciphered. Meanwhile, the magpie was drawing a secret code for the multiplication table on the wall of the room:

When Shurshunchik looked at the wall, he instantly found the answer: two multiplied by six equaled twelve. And exactly! That’s exactly how many mushrooms he usually collected after painstaking counting!

The hedgehog decided to learn the magic multiplication table for himself, which helped him count the mushrooms collected in the fall so well!

One day our class was going on a hike. Around the city in which we live there are beautiful mountains, on which evergreen pines and birches grow. We decided to go on a short trip to the foot of one of them.

The preparations were short-lived, but the mothers did their best: they prepared a lot tasty food, clothes, various supplies. Some parents went on a hike with the class.

The journey took us no more than an hour. While we were walking, we cheerfully discussed what had happened during the day, marks, and shared stories from life. And now we are at the foot of the mountain.

A spring gushes merrily from underground. The golden leaves of the birch rustle. The pines are silently dozing. We laid out tarpaulins and blankets, made a fire, and laid out supplies. After the walk, we worked up an appetite, and we began to eat with pleasure.

Stepan, our classmate, offered to fry the sausages that he had brought with him over the fire. We each found a twig and began to cook food over the fire. It was easy and calm for us.

Suddenly stood up strong wind. The pines bent under his pressure, yellow leaves flew from the birches. A thunderstorm was approaching. We were seriously scared. They quickly began to roll up blankets and tarpaulins, hiding the prepared meals in their backpacks. We barely had time to get ready when the rain started pouring down. Covering ourselves with tarpaulins and umbrellas, we quickly headed towards the city.

That day we all successfully made it home. Slightly wet and chilled, we each warmed up with warm tea. But the desire to go hiking again did not disappear. This incident made our class friendlier and more united, because together we were able to overcome bad weather.

“Eh, I don’t like math class, especially when we have a test,” fourth-grade student Yegorka thought to himself. “They give you a bunch of examples, and then you sit there and suffer. No, to let us go for a walk with Petka. We would chase pigeons."

Egor sat at his desk in math class all alone and tried to solve an example on addition and multiplication. All sorts of thoughts were spinning in his head, but they were far from mathematics. And time was running out. And very soon the long-awaited bell will ring, and in the notebook for tests So far only two examples have been solved.

Egorka is tired. He had already approached the teacher several times for advice. The teacher did not refuse help, but did not stop counting: “Take 1, Take 2, Take 3...” Because Yegor came up with the same example and could not understand how to add large numbers, and then multiply their. He didn't know the multiplication table at all. The cheat sheet written yesterday did not help, and the teacher only “suggested thoughts” that he did not have. Somehow these thoughts didn’t come to mind. Somehow they flew far, far away from the examples and constant takes...

Egorka will sit, sit, dream, and return to the teacher’s table. He so wanted the numbers to add up and multiply themselves, to be friends with each other. He dreamed of how they would line up into the long-awaited answer, which would certainly be correct, and the teacher would praise him, a careless student, on the hundredth take of questions that he had completed. But Yegorka will remain silent, hide the truth and not even blush. He should now run around the house, play ball and pester his neighbor Sanya. They bought Sanya a new bicycle, and now he rides around the yard with a foppish look. And Egorka also wanted a bike, only cooler, more expensive, so that he could demonstrate his advantage over Sanya. He was offended that his parents did not buy the long-awaited bicycle. And his parents kept sending him to mathematics, forcing him to learn the multiplication table. They promised Egorka a bicycle, but only if he succeeded in his studies. And this table... table... Why is this multiplication table needed at all?

These numbers, no matter how bad they are, just don’t want to line up in a friendly row. You'll have to go to the teacher again for an extra take.

Egorka, puffing and blushing, got up from his seat and, amid the friendly laughter of the whole class, headed to the teacher. The guys were waiting for the next joke from the teacher towards Yegorka, but the boy was silent, taking in more air, clenching his hands into fists so as not to cry for an hour, because he is a real man. The girls whispered to each other and pointed their fingers at him, and Yegor just looked menacingly in their direction, thinking about how he would grab them by the pigtails during recess.

The teacher looked at Yegor’s notes and, realizing that nothing had changed in them since their last meeting, sighed heavily. She took a pencil and tried to explain to the boy the correct course of the solution. It seemed to Yegorka that, from under the teacher’s pencil, the numbers appeared on their own: they were so neatly and beautifully placed in a row. For a second it seemed to Yegorka that the teacher had a magic pencil. “I would like one like this,” thought Yegor. “I would write all my math tests with A’s.” He watched in amazement at the miracle happening in his notebook: beautiful, fat numbers appeared from somewhere, they stood next to each other so deftly, as if they were friends with each other. Egorka just gasped and groaned, shifting from foot to foot.

The thought of a magic pencil firmly settled in his head. He did not take his eyes off him, and the teacher, with a sad look, drew correct solution. When the teacher finished, Yegor carefully, timidly and blushing, asked the teacher to fulfill one more of his requests. She looked up and asked: “What else do you want, Egor?” Egor, looking away to the side, asked: “Can I have your pencil, Zinaida Vasilievna.”

The teacher, looking questioningly at the student, handed him her pencil. Yegorka took it in his hands with lust and went to solve the next example. The class laughed, especially the girls. They constantly adjusted the bows and braids on their little heads.

“Well, you’ll wait with me.” – Egorka thought and began to solve the next problem. Oddly enough, the example was a success. The teacher’s pencil really seemed to tell Yegorka what numbers to write. Egorka was so carried away by solving examples that he completely forgot about class, girls, jokes about him and other nonsense. The test was written, and a week later, near Yegorka’s house, his father met his son returning from school with a brand new bicycle, shimmering in the sun.

Therapeutic tales work real miracles. They are able to solve children's problems and cope with life's difficulties. By reading fairy tales to children, you can become closer and understand each other better. They will not only entertain, but will certainly bring great benefits.

What is fairy tale therapy?

The children's world is completely different from the adult one. He is special and huge. To prove this, it is enough to remember yourself in at a young age. As children, we believed in miracles. Magic surrounded us everywhere. We trusted toys with our deepest secrets. We thought that someday it would be possible to get out of the closet into the magnificent country of Narnia, and behind the mirror is Through the Looking Glass, where Yagupop77, Anidag, Abazh and other characters live. For us there were no boundaries between the real and fictional worlds. That's why we believed in fairy tales and loved them very much. But what can we hide, we still love them.

Thanks to fairy tales, long-awaited magic can happen to your child. Listening to them, children gain irreplaceable experience with interest and great pleasure and get acquainted with the unknown world. They will help you solve problems and cope with life's difficulties. therapeutic tales. They are much more effective than any parental persuasion.

A good fairy tale actually works a real miracle. Babies stop crying for various reasons, their fears turn into trifles, children become more obedient.

Authors of therapeutic tales

• Shkurina M. She owns such therapeutic tales for children as: “The Tale of healthy vegetables“,” “Kingdom of the Lazy”, “About the Cockerel from Barcelos”, “The little hare who ran away from his mother” and many others.
• Chernyaeva S.A. She owns the book “Psychotherapeutic Fairy Tales and Games,” which contains a large number of fairy tales intended for different ages.
• Gnezdilov A.V.: “Therapeutic tales.” Thanks to the fairy tales of this author, parents will be able to find a way out of difficult situations, and children will find answers to questions about the meaning and essence of existence.
• Khukhlaeva O. V. and Khukhlaev O. E. They created the book “Labyrinth of the Soul.” She's about seventy fairy tales, which are aimed at solving specific problems. They are intended for preschoolers, junior schoolchildren and teenagers.

“Labyrinth of the soul. Therapeutic tales"

This wonderful book was created by O. V. Khukhlaeva and O. E. Khukhlaev. It begins with the fairy tale of the girl Tanya Schmidt, and after that there is a traditional introduction, main section and conclusion. All stories written by the authors of the book are problem-oriented. Some of them are aimed at solving a single problem, while others cover several at once.

Fairy tales will certainly help all children. Thanks to such stories, the child develops a “self-help mechanism.” He will be able to cope with difficult situations on his own. Therapeutic tales show that there is always a way out, and the ending will definitely be happy.

The stories are intended for three primary school children and teenagers.

Groups of topics in the book “Labyrinth of the Soul”

Before each fairy tale, its focus is indicated and the range of problems is outlined. It is very convenient that at the end of the book there is a “problem index”, where the main problems and the numbers of the corresponding stories are listed in alphabetical order.

Children's (therapeutic) fairy tales are conventionally divided into four groups of themes:

1. Difficulties related to communication (with parents and peers). Every child has quarrels with friends, grievances with classmates, conflicts with parents and other issues.
2. Feelings of inferiority.
3. Various fears and anxieties. It is very important here to understand how much the child is afraid. This may be a certain stage that needs to be crossed. But if fear hinders development, then help is definitely needed.
4. Age-specific problems.

How to use fairy tales?

Therapeutic fairy tales for children should be read aloud, even if the child knows the letters perfectly and can read the story independently. Watch your baby's reaction. His behavior will tell you the relevance of the chosen story and the child’s interest. Discuss the fairy tales you have read with him, ask his opinion, maybe he will want to add something. However, do not delay conversations too much. If your son or daughter doesn’t want to discuss anything, then you shouldn’t force it.

Therapeutic fairy tales for children can be illustrated with bright pictures. This will increase the interest in listening. Draw pictures yourself, and also invite your child to make his own drawing. Try to play simple fairy tales that your child will really like.

This will serve to develop the acting talents and enhance the effect of a particular story.

Fairy tales for preschoolers

Therapeutic fairy tales for preschoolers should be written in simple and understandable language for children. It's better to choose short stories where the main problem will be illuminated in a veiled manner.

In the book “Labyrinth of the Soul” these are tales No. 1-27. Here are some of them.

• “How Baby Kangaroo Became Independent.” Will help the baby overcome the fear of separation from his mother.
• "The Tale of a Sunflower Seed." Aimed at overcoming the fear of independence and general timidity.
• "Squirrel-Pripevochka." If your child constantly repeats: “Help, I can’t do it myself,” then this fairy tale is just for you.
• "An Incident in the Forest" Will help fight
• "The Tale about the Hedgehog Vitya." Its main focus is difficulties in communicating with peers and overcoming feelings of inferiority.

Fairy tales for primary schoolchildren

Therapeutic fairy tales for younger schoolchildren will help deal with various difficulties associated with studying and communicating with classmates (peers). Approximate age of the child: 5-11 years. In the book “Labyrinth of the Soul” these are tales No. 28-57. Each of them has bright name and is aimed at solving specific problems. Here are some of them:

• "Vasya the kangaroo" It will help solve problems with studies that are caused by the fear of difficulties, as well as cope with feelings of inferiority and self-doubt.
• "Seven-flowered flower." If your baby is having difficulty learning school curriculum And conflict situations with a teacher, then reading this story will certainly help your child.
• "Teddy Bear and Old Mushroom" It will help you cope with difficulties such as restlessness and reluctance to work with complex material, and the inability to concentrate.
• "Shustrik and Gluttony." Sometimes children worry so much about bad grades that they long time there is no mood, as a result of which a depressive state occurs. And a feeling of guilt appears: “Since I study poorly, that means I’m bad.” This fairy tale will help you cope with these feelings and increase your interest in learning.
• "Ship." It happens that repeated receipt of negative marks “kills” a child’s desire to learn; he develops a negative attitude towards studying, since he does not see any meaning in it.

Fairy tales for teenagers

Therapeutic fairy tales for teenagers will help them deal with certain difficulties and feel like an independent person. They are intended for children aged 9 to 16 years. If they think they are old enough to read fairy tales, then replace the word. For example, say what it is interesting story or a fascinating story. If the child flatly refuses to read it, then tell it yourself, letting him down interesting question. For example: “Anton, do you know where flamingos came from? No? You don't even know who it is? Then listen to a wonderful story about beautiful birds." With such a preamble, even the most stubborn child will want to listen to the story.

A large number of fairy tales for teenagers are contained in the book “Labyrinth of the Soul.” Here are some of them.

• "Flamingo, or the Rock of Desires." It will help overcome self-doubt, doubts and feelings of inferiority.
• "The Tale of Real...Color." Sometimes a child may feel that no one needs him. The reasons for such thoughts can be completely different. Against this background, depressive and suicidal tendencies may appear. This tale will help cope with feelings of inferiority and the feeling that no one needs him.
• "Cheek." Helps you get rid of low self-esteem.
• "The Tale of a Little Lonely Fish and the Huge Blue Sea." The story is aimed at solving problems associated with difficulties in communicating with peers.
• "The Tale of Drupe Drupkin." It will help you cope with indifference, disorganization and inability to recognize your behavior.

Conclusion

Thus, therapeutic fairy tales can work real magic with your child. Those problems that you cannot solve thanks to ordinary persuasion and conversations will help you overcome such unusual and fascinating stories. They are no different from ordinary fairy tales, only each of them contains a specific problem and its solution. main idea- there is always a way out, you can cope with anyone, even the most difficult situation. Many authors write such tales. Among them: Khukhlaeva O.V., Khukhlaev O.E., Chernyaeva S.A., Gnezdilov A.V., Shkurina M. Fairy tales are intended for different ages: for preschoolers, primary schoolchildren and teenagers.

Friends! You have found yourself in Wonderland. Here you will find the most interesting works- literary fairy tales. Do you know what a fairy tale is?.. That’s right, miracles always happen in a fairy tale, amazing creatures live in it. Literary tales written by extraordinary writers. They know how to come up with extraordinary stories and extraordinary heroes. Can you now remember the names of the most famous storytellers?

In this section you will meet works of writers, many of whom you were not yet familiar with. In the fairy tales of Gennady Tsyferov, Donald Bisset, Sergei Kozlov, Natalia Abramtseva, Rudyard Kipling you will meet funny and amusing characters, unexpected situations and in unusual words. All these fairy tales are very different, but they are united by a remarkable property - they teach us to see miracles in the most ordinary things.

To get to Wonderland, you will need your imagination and invention, your humor and kindness. You will also need paints and pencils to draw a colorful Wonderland, to which storytellers, visionaries and dreamers will lead us.

Gennady Tsyferov “About the chicken, the sun and the little bear”

When I was little, I knew very little and was surprised at everything, and loved to compose. For example, snow is flying. People will say - precipitation. And I’ll think: probably, somewhere in the blue meadows white dandelions have bloomed. Or maybe at night on the green roof cheerful clouds sat down to rest and dangled their white legs. And if the cloud is pulled by the leg, it will sigh and fly. It will fly far somewhere.

Why am I telling you all this? Here's what it's all about. Yesterday an amazing thing happened in our chicken coop: from white chicken egg a yellow chick hatched. Yesterday he hatched, and then all day, all week he was surprised at everything. After all, he was small and saw everything for the first time. It’s about how he was little and saw everything for the first time that I decided to write a book.

It's good to be small. And it’s even better to see everything for the first time.

First surprise

Why was the chicken surprised at first? Well, of course, the sun. He looked at him and said:

- And what's that? If this is a ball, then where is the thread? And if it is a flower, then where is its stem?

“Stupid,” the chicken mother laughed. - This is the sun.

- Sunshine, sunshine! - the chicken sang. - Need to remember.

Then he saw another sun, in a small drop.

— Little sun, - he whispered into his yellow ear, - if you want, I’ll take you to our little house, to the chicken coop? It's dark and cool there.

But the sun didn’t want to shine there. Again the chicken sun took him out into the street and stamped his paw:

- Stupid sunshine! Where it is light, it shines, but where it is dark, it does not want to shine. Why?

But no one, not even the biggest and oldest, could explain this to him.

Second surprise

Why was the chicken surprised then? Again to the sun.

What is it like? Of course, yellow. This is how the chicken saw it for the first time and decided that it would always be like this.

But one day a mischievous wind unwound the golden ball. Along the path where the sun walked, from the green hills to the blue river, a multi-colored rainbow stretched.

The chicken looked at the rainbow and smiled: but the sun is not yellow at all. It's colorful. Like a nesting doll. Open the blue one - it contains green. Open the green one - it contains blue. And in blue there is also red, orange...

So is the sun. If you roll it out and unwind the ball, there will be seven stripes. And if each of these strips is wound separately, there will be seven colored suns. Yellow sun, blue, blue, green - all sorts of suns.

How many days are there in a week? Also seven. This means that every day one sun will rise. On Monday, for example, it’s blue, on Tuesday it’s green, on Wednesday it’s blue, and on Sunday it’s yellow. Sunday is a fun day.

How the chicken first wrote a fairy tale

Yes, it’s very simple: I took it and composed it. They once told him a fairy tale about a house on chicken legs. He thought and immediately came up with another: a fairy tale about a house on calf's legs. Then about the house on elephant legs. Then about the house on hare legs.

The house had horns growing on calf's legs.

The house had ears growing on hare legs.

A pipe-proboscis hung near the house on elephant legs.

And the house on chicken legs had a red comb.

The house on hare legs squealed: “I want to jump!”

The little house on calf's legs mooed: "I want to butt heads!"

The house on elephant legs began to puff: “Pfft!” I want to blow the trumpet!”

And the house on chicken legs sang: “Ku-ka-riku! Isn’t it time for you to go to bed?”

Here the lights went out in all the houses. And everyone fell asleep.

About friends

The chicken had few friends. Only one. This is because he looked for friends by color. If yellow means friend. If it's gray, no. If it's brown, no. Once a chicken was walking along a green path, saw a yellow thread and walked, and followed it. I walked and walked and saw a yellow caterpillar.

“Hello, yellow,” said the chicken, “are you probably my yellow friend?”

“Yes,” grumbled the caterpillar, “probably.”

- What are you doing here? — the chicken asked with interest.

- Don't you see? I pull the yellow phone.

- What for?

- Don't you guess? The blue bell that lives in the forest and the blue bell that lives in the meadow decided to call each other today.

- What for? - asked the chicken.

— Probably to find out about the weather. After all, they close when it rains.

“Me too,” said the chicken and hid his head. And this greatly surprised the caterpillar.

For a very long time she could not understand who it was - a flower or a bird?

“Probably a flower,” the caterpillar decided and made friends with the chicken. After all, caterpillars are afraid of birds.

What were the two yellow friends doing?

What are all the little ones doing? Were playing. They danced. Blowing bubbles. They splashed into a puddle. And they were also sad. And sometimes they cried.

Why were they sad

On Monday that's why. On this day they deceived their mothers. They told them: “We will go to the meadow.” And they themselves went to the river to catch crucian carp.

Of course, if it had been a boy, he would have blushed. If it's a girl, too.

But they were a yellow chicken and a yellow caterpillar. And all day they turned yellow, yellow, yellow. And by evening they became so yellow that no one could look at them without blue glasses. And whoever looked without blue glasses sighed and cried: “How sad all this is! How sad it all is! They deceived their mothers! And now they are so, so yellow on such a blue evening!”

Why did they laugh

On Wednesday they decided to play hide and seek. In the morning they decided, at lunch they considered:

- One two three four five! Whoever plays should run!

The chicken ran away and hid under the porch. The caterpillar crawled away and hid under a leaf. Are waiting,

who will find whom. We waited for an hour - no one found anyone. Two waited - no one found anyone...

Finally in the evening their mothers found them and scolded them:

- Is this hide and seek? Hide and seek is when someone is hiding from someone. Someone is looking for someone. And when everyone is hiding, it’s not hide and seek! This is something different.

At this time thunder roared. And everyone hid.

Gennady Tsyferov “How frogs drank tea”

The tomato turned red on one side. Now it’s like a small traffic light: where the sun rises, the side is red; where the moon is green.

A shaggy fog sleeps in the meadows. He smokes a pipe. It blows smoke under the bushes.

In the evening, by the blue-blue river, green frogs drank tea from white-white water lilies.

The birch asked the pine tree where it was going.

- To the sky.

— I want to put a cloud-sail on the top.

- For what?

- Fly over the blue river, over the white hill.

- For what?

- See where the sun sets, where it, yellow, lives.

Came out starry night walk the donkey. I saw a month in the sky. I was surprised: “Where is the other half?” I went looking. He looked into the bushes and rummaged under the burdocks. I found her in the garden in a small puddle. I looked and touched it with my foot - it was alive.

It rained, incessantly, through the meadows, fields, and flowering gardens. Walked, walked, stumbled, pulled out long legs, fell... and drowned in the last puddle. Only the bubbles went up: glug-glug.

It's already spring, but the nights are cold. The frost is freezing. The willow showed her little fingers and put fur mittens on them.

The boy drew the sun. And all around are rays - golden eyelashes. Showed it to dad:

- Fine?

“Okay,” said dad and drew a stem.

—- Uh! - the boy was surprised. - Yes, it’s a sunflower!..

Victor Khmelnitsky "Spider"

The spider was hanging on a cobweb. Suddenly it broke, and the spider began to fall.

“Wow!..” thought the spider.

Having fallen to the ground, he immediately stood up, rubbed his bruised side and ran to the tree.

Having climbed onto a branch, the spider now released two webs at once - and began to swing on a swing.

Viktor Khmelnitsky “Galchonok and Stars”

“When you fall asleep, hide your head under your wing,” his mother taught the black jackdaw.

“My neck hurts,” answered the naughty little jackdaw...

And then one frosty night, when huge stars sparkled in the sky and the snow was silver on the ground, the little jackdaw accidentally woke up.

I woke up and decided that everything around me was a dream.

And the cold wind seemed not so cold. And deep snow is soft and welcoming.

The huge stars seemed even brighter to the little jackdaw, and black sky- blue.

- Hello! - the little jackdaw shouted into the whole blue light.

“Hello,” the stars responded.

“Hello,” the round Moon smiled. - Why are not you sleeping?

- How?! - shouted the little jackdaw. - Isn't this a dream?

“Of course, it’s a dream,” the stars twinkled. - Dream! Dream! They were bored and wanted to play. In addition, the little jackdaw's eyes sparkled like real stars.

- And Luna asks why I’m not sleeping?

- She was joking!

- Ur-r-ra! - shouted the little jackdaw. - So-o-he!!!

But then the whole forest woke up from his scream. And his mother gave him such a beating that since then the little jackdaw, like all birds, when falling asleep, hides his head under his wing - so that when he wakes up at night, he won’t see the deceiving stars!

Viktor Khmelnitsky “Fruit of Imagination”

“It’s very interesting,” the frog began, “to come up with something like that!.. And then see it.”

“A figment of the imagination,” the grasshopper supported, jumping up.

All the color of the field and forest gathered in the clearing. There were blue cornflowers, scarlet poppies, white butterflies, red ones with a white dot ladybugs and so on and so forth, incomparable...

The grasshopper decided to invent an elephant.

Big, big elephant!

“I probably have the most big fruit imagination!" - he thought, not without secret pride.

But the grasshopper was in vain secretly proud. White chamomile came up with a cloud. And the cloud is very often larger than the elephant.

Chamomile came up with a cloud as white as herself.

“If we’re going to come up with something,” the frog decided, “it’s very pleasant...”

And the frog came up with rain and puddles.

Ladybug invented the sun. At first glance, it is very simple. But only for the first... What if for the second or third? Surely your eyes will hurt!

- Well, who came up with what? - asked the frog.

- I came up with a big, big elephant! - the grasshopper announced louder than usual.

“And I am a white, white cloud,” said the chamomile. - And I saw a white-white cloud in the blue transparent sky.

- There's a cloud! - exclaimed the chamomile. - Just like I came up with!

Everyone looked up and began to envy the daisy.

But the closer the cloud floated, the more it resembled a big, big elephant.

- Here it is, my elephant! I came up with it! - the grasshopper was happy.

And when rain suddenly began to fall over the clearing from the elephant cloud and puddles appeared, the little frog began to smile. This is someone who really has a smile from ear to ear!

And, of course, of course, then the sun appeared. Which means it’s time for... the ladybug to triumph.

Sergey Kozlov “Hedgehog’s Violin”

Hedgehog has long wanted to learn to play the violin.

“Well,” he said, “the birds sing, the dragonflies ring, but I can only hiss?”

And he planed pine planks, dried them and began to make a violin. The violin came out light, melodious, with a cheerful bow.

Having finished his work, Hedgehog sat down on a stump, pressed the violin to his muzzle and pulled the bow from top to bottom.

“Pi-i-i...” the violin squealed. And the Hedgehog smiled.

“Pi-pi-pi-pi!..” flew out from under the bow, and the Hedgehog began to come up with a melody.

“We need to come up with something like this,” he thought, “so that the pine tree will rustle, the cones will fall and the wind will blow. Then the wind died down, and one cone swayed for a long, long time, and then finally plopped down - bang! And then the mosquitoes should squeal and evening would come.”

He sat down more comfortably on the stump, held the violin tighter and waved the bow.

“Uuuu!..” - the violin hummed.

“No,” thought the Hedgehog, “that’s probably how the bee hums... Then let it be midday. Let the bees buzz, the sun shine brightly and the ants run along the paths.”

And he, smiling, began to play: “Oooh!” Oooh!..”

"It turns out!" - Hedgehog was happy. And “Noon” played all day until the evening.

“Uh-oh! Oooh!..” - rushed through the forest.

And thirty Ants, two Grasshoppers and one Mosquito gathered to look at the Hedgehog.

“You’re being a little false,” said the Mosquito politely when the Hedgehog was tired. — The fourth “y” needs to be made a little thinner. Like this...

And he squealed: “Pi-i-i!..”

“No,” said the Hedgehog. - You play “Evening”, and I play “Noon”. Can't you hear?

The mosquito took a step back with its thin leg, tilted its head to the side and raised its shoulders.

“Yes, yes,” he said, listening. - Noon! At this time I really like to sleep in the grass.

“And we,” said the Grasshoppers, “work in the forge at noon.” In just half an hour, a Dragonfly will fly to us and ask us to forge a new wing!..

“And we,” said the Ants, “have lunch at noon.”

And one Ant came forward and said:

- Please play a little more: I really like lunch!

The hedgehog held the violin and played the bow.

- Delicious! - said the Ant. - I will come every evening to listen to your “Noon”.

Dew fell.

The Hedgehog, like a real musician, bowed from the stump to the Ants, Grasshoppers and Mosquitoes and took the violin into the house so that it would not get damp.

Instead of strings, blades of grass were stretched on the violin, and, falling asleep, Hedgehog thought how tomorrow he would string fresh strings and finally make the violin make the noise of pine, breathe in the wind and stomp on falling pine cones...

Sergey Kozlov “Hedgehog-Christmas Tree”

Throughout the pre-New Year week, a blizzard raged in the fields. There was so much snow in the forest that neither the Hedgehog, nor the Donkey, nor the Little Bear could leave the house all week.

Before the New Year, the blizzard subsided, and friends gathered at Hedgehog’s house.

“Tell you what,” said the Bear, “we don’t have a Christmas tree.”

“No,” agreed Donkey.

“I don’t see that we have it,” said the Hedgehog. He loved to express himself in intricate ways, especially on holidays.

“We need to go look,” suggested Little Bear.

“Where can we find her now?” Donkey was surprised. - It’s dark in the forest...

“And what snowdrifts!..” sighed the Hedgehog.

“We still have to go get the tree,” said the Little Bear.

And all three left the house.

The blizzard had subsided, but the clouds had not yet dispersed, and not a single star was visible in the sky.

- And there is no moon! - said Donkey. - What kind of tree is there?!

- How about the touch? - said the Bear. And crawled through the snowdrifts.

But by touch he found nothing. We only came across big Christmas trees, but they still wouldn’t have fit into Hedgehog’s house, and the little ones were completely covered in snow.

Returning to the Hedgehog, Donkey and Little Bear became sad.

- Well, what is it? New Year!.. - sighed the Bear.

"If only some autumn holiday, so maybe a Christmas tree isn’t necessary, thought Donkey. “And in winter you can’t live without a Christmas tree.”

Meanwhile, the hedgehog boiled the samovar and poured tea into saucers. He gave the little bear a barrel of honey, and the Donkey a plate of dumplings.

The Hedgehog didn’t think about the Christmas tree, but he was sad that it had been half a month since his clock had broken, and the watchmaker Woodpecker had promised, but had not arrived.

“How will we know when it’s twelve o’clock?” - he asked the Little Bear.

- We will feel it! - said Donkey.

- How will we feel this? - Little Bear was surprised.

“Very simple,” said Donkey. - At twelve o’clock we will already be sleepy for exactly three hours!

- Right! - Hedgehog was happy.

- Don’t worry about the Christmas tree. We will put a stool in the corner, and I will stand on it, and you will hang toys on me.

- Why not a Christmas tree! - Little Bear shouted.

And so they did.

They put a stool in the corner, Hedgehog stood on the stool and fluffed up the needles.

“The toys are under the bed,” he said.

The Donkey and the Little Bear took out toys and hung a large dried dandelion on the Hedgehog’s upper paws, and a small spruce cone on each needle.

- Don't forget the light bulbs! - said the Hedgehog.

And they hung chanterelle mushrooms on his chest, and they lit up merrily - they were so red.

“Aren’t you tired, Yolka?” - asked Little Bear, sitting down and sipping tea from a saucer.

The hedgehog stood on a stool and smiled.

“No,” said the Hedgehog. - What time is it now?

The donkey was dozing.

- Five minutes to twelve! - said the Bear. — As soon as Donkey falls asleep, it will be exactly New Year.

“Then pour me and yourself some cranberry juice,” said the Hedgehog-Christmas tree.

— Do you want cranberry juice? - Little Bear asked Donkey.

The donkey fell asleep.

“Now the clock should strike,” he muttered.

The hedgehog carefully took the cup in his right paw

with cranberry juice, and the bottom one, stamping, began to beat the time.

- Bam, bam, bam! - he said.

“It’s already three,” said the Bear. - Now let me go!

He hit the floor with his paw three times and also said:

- Bam, bam, bam!.. Now it’s your turn, Donkey!

The donkey hit the floor with his hoof three times, but said nothing.

- Now it’s me again! - Hedgehog shouted.

And everyone listened with bated breath to the last “bam!” bam! bam!

- Hooray! - Little Bear shouted, and Donkey fell asleep. Soon the Little Bear fell asleep too.

Only Hedgehog stood in the corner on a stool and didn’t know what to do. And he began to sing songs and sang them until the morning, so as not to fall asleep and not break his toys.

Sergey Kozlov “Hedgehog in the Fog”

Thirty mosquitoes ran out into the clearing and began to play their squeaky violins. The moon came out from behind the clouds and, smiling, floated across the sky.

“Mmm-uh!..” sighed the cow across the river. The dog howled, and forty moon hares ran along the path.

Fog rose above the river, and the sad white horse drowned in it up to its chest, and now it seemed like a large white duck was swimming in the fog and, snorting, lowered its head into it.

The hedgehog sat on a hill under a pine tree and looked at the illuminated moonlight a valley flooded with fog.

It was so beautiful that he shuddered from time to time: was he dreaming of all this? And the mosquitoes never tired of playing their violins, the moon hares danced, and the dog howled.

“If I tell you, they won’t believe it!” - thought the Hedgehog, and began to look even more carefully in order to remember all the beauty down to the last blade of grass.

“So the star fell,” he noted, “and the grass bent to the left, and only the top of the tree remained, and now it floats next to the horse... But it’s interesting,” thought the Hedgehog, “if the horse goes to sleep, it will choke in the fog ?

And he began to slowly descend from the mountain in order to also get into the fog and see what it was like inside.

“Here,” said the Hedgehog. - I can not see anything. And you can't even see a paw. Horse! - he called.

But the horse didn't say anything.

“Where is the horse?” - thought the Hedgehog. And he crawled straight. Everything around was dull, dark and wet, only the twilight glowed faintly high above.

He crawled for a long, long time and suddenly felt that there was no ground under him, and he was flying somewhere. Pounding!..

"I'm in the river!" - the Hedgehog realized, turning cold with fear. And he began to hit with his paws in all directions.

When he emerged, it was still dark, and Hedgehog didn’t even know where the shore was.

“Let the river itself carry me!” - he decided. He took a deep breath as best he could, and was carried downstream.

The river rustled with reeds, seethed in the riffles, and Hedgehog felt that he was completely wet and would soon drown.

Suddenly someone touched his hind paw.

“Excuse me,” someone said silently, who are you and how did you get here?

“I am the Hedgehog,” the Hedgehog also answered silently. - I fell into the river.

“Then sit on my back,” someone said silently. - I'll take you to the shore.

The hedgehog sat on someone's narrow, slippery back and a minute later found himself on the shore.

- Thank you! - he said out loud.

- My pleasure! - someone the Hedgehog didn’t even see soundlessly said, and disappeared in the waves.

“That’s the story...” thought the Hedgehog, shaking himself off. “Who will believe it?!” And he hobbled in the fog.

Sergey Kozlov “How to catch a cloud”

When the time came for the birds to fly south and the grass had long withered and the trees had fallen off, the Hedgehog said to the Little Bear:

- Winter is coming soon. Let's go catch some fish for you one last time. You love fish!

And they took fishing rods and went to the river.

It was so quiet, so calm on the river that all the trees bowed their sad heads towards it, and clouds slowly floated in the middle. The clouds were gray and shaggy, and Little Bear became scared.

“What if we catch a cloud? - he thought. “What are we going to do with him then?”

- Hedgehog! - said the Bear. - What will we do if we catch a cloud?

“We won’t catch you,” said the Hedgehog. — Clouds cannot be caught on dry peas. Now, if you caught it with a dandelion...

- Can you catch a cloud with a dandelion?

- Certainly! - said the Hedgehog. - You can only catch clouds with dandelions!

It began to get dark.

They sat on a narrow birch bridge and looked into the water. The little bear looked at the Hedgehog's float, and the Hedgehog looked at the Little Bear's float. It was quiet, and the floats were motionless reflected in the water...

- Why doesn’t she bite? - asked Little Bear.

— She listens to our conversations. - said the Hedgehog. — Pisces are very curious in autumn!..

- Then let's be silent.

And they sat a whole hour silently.

Suddenly Little Bear's float began to dance and dive deep.

- It’s biting! - Hedgehog shouted.

- Oh! - exclaimed the Little Bear. - Pulls!

- Hold it, hold it! - said the Hedgehog.

“Something very heavy,” whispered Little Bear. “Last year an old cloud sank here.” Maybe this is it?

- Hold it, hold it! - Hedgehog repeated.

But then Little Bear's fishing rod bent in an arc, then straightened out with a whistle - and a huge red moon flew high into the sky.

And the moon swayed and floated quietly over the river.

And then Hedgehog’s float disappeared.

- Pull! - Whispered the Bear.

The hedgehog waved his fishing rod - and a small star flew high into the sky, above the moon.

“So...” whispered the Hedgehog, taking out two new peas. - Now if only there was enough bait!..

And they, forgetting about the fish, spent the whole night catching the stars and throwing them all over the sky.

And before dawn, when the peas ran out, Little Bear hung from the bridge and pulled two orange maple leaves out of the water.

“There’s nothing better than fishing with a maple leaf!” - he said.

And he was about to doze off, when suddenly someone grabbed the hook tightly.

“Help!..” whispered the Little Bear to the Hedgehog.

And the two of them, tired and sleepy, barely pulled the sun out of the water.

It shook itself off, walked along the narrow bridge and rolled into the field.

It was quiet all around, good, and last leaves like little ships, slowly sailed along the river...

Sergey Kozlov “Beauty”

When everyone huddled in their holes and began to wait for winter, a warm wind suddenly arrived. He embraced the entire forest with his wide wings, and everything came to life - it sang, chirped, and rang.

Spiders came out to bask in the sun, and dozing frogs woke up. The hare sat down on a stump in the middle of the clearing and raised his ears. But the Hedgehog and the Little Bear simply didn’t know what to do.

“Let’s go swim in the river,” said the Bear.

- The water is icy.

- Let's go get some golden leaves!

- The leaves have fallen off.

- Let's go get some mushrooms for you!

- What mushrooms? - said the Hedgehog. - Where?

- Then... Then... Let's go to bed - let's lie in the sun!

- The ground is cold.

- The water is icy, the ground is cold, there are no mushrooms, the leaves have fallen off, but why is it warm?

- That's it! - said the Hedgehog.

- That's it! - Miked the Bear. - What should we do?

- Let's go cut some wood for you!

“No,” said the Bear. It is good to cut firewood in winter. Whack-whack! - and gold filings in the snow! Blue sky, sun, frost. Whack-whack! - Fine!

- Let's go to! Let's drink!

- What you! And in winter? Bam! - and steam from the mouth. Bam! You inject, you sing, and you smoke. It’s such a joy to chop wood on a clear sunny day!

“Then I don’t know,” said the Hedgehog. - Think yourself.

“Let’s go get some twigs,” said the Bear. - Bare branches. And some have only one leaf. You know how beautiful it is!

- What should we do with them?

- We'll put it in the house. Just a little, you know? - said the Bear. - If there is a lot, there will be just bushes, but if a little...

And they went, broke beautiful branches and, with the branches in their paws, headed to the Little Bear’s house.

- Hey! Why do you need brooms? - shouted the Hare.

“These are not brooms,” said the Hedgehog. - This is beauty! Can't you see?

- Beauty! There is so much of this beauty! - said the Hare. — Beauty is when there is not enough. And here - there’s so much!

“It’s here,” said Little Bear. “And our house will be beautiful in winter.”

- And will you take these brooms home?

“Well, yes,” said the Hedgehog. - And you can get some for yourself too, Hare.

- Why did I move? — the Hare was surprised. — I live in the forest and there are bare branches...

“You understand,” said the Bear, “you will take two or three branches and put them in a jug at home.”

— Better than rowan, said the Hare.

- Rowan - of course. And the branches are very beautiful!

-Where will you put them? - the Hare asked the Hedgehog.

“On the window,” said the Hedgehog. “They will stand right next to the winter sky.”

- And you? - the Hare asked the Little Bear.

- And I’m at the window. Whoever comes will be happy.

“Well,” said the Hare. - So Vorona is right. She said this morning: “If it gets warm in the forest in the fall, many people go crazy.” You're crazy, right?

The Hedgehog and the Little Bear looked at each other, then at the Hare, and then the Little Bear said:

- You are stupid, Hare. And your Crow is stupid. Is it really crazy to make beauty out of three branches for everyone?

The fairy tale by Konstantin Paustovsky is aimed at instilling kindness in children and responsibility for their actions. The tale is that evil is always punishable, but if a person has repented, then everything can still be corrected, but for this you have to work a lot.

Warm bread. Author: Konstantin Paustovsky

When the cavalrymen passed through the village of Berezhki, a German shell exploded on the outskirts and wounded a black horse in the leg. The commander left the wounded horse in the village, and the detachment moved on, dusty and jingling with the bits - it left, rolled behind the groves, behind the hills, where the wind shook the ripe rye.

The horse was taken in by the miller Pankrat. The mill had not worked for a long time, but the flour dust had ingrained itself into Pankrat forever. It lay as a gray crust on his quilted jacket and cap. The miller's quick eyes looked at everyone from under his cap. Pankrat was quick to work, an angry old man, and the guys considered him a sorcerer.

Pankrat cured the horse. The horse remained at the mill and patiently carried clay, manure and poles - he helped Pankrat repair the dam.

Pankrat found it difficult to feed his horse, and the horse began to go around the yards to beg. He would stand, snort, knock on the gate with his muzzle, and, lo and behold, they would bring out beet tops, or stale bread, or, it happened, even sweet carrots. In the village they said that the horse was no one’s, or rather, a public one, and everyone considered it their duty to feed it. In addition, the horse was wounded and suffered from the enemy.

A boy named Filka, nicknamed Nu You, lived in Berezhki with his grandmother. Filka was silent, distrustful, and his favorite expression was: “Screw you!” Whether a neighbor’s boy suggested that he walk on stilts or look for green cartridges, Filka would answer in an angry bass voice: “Screw you! Look for it yourself!” When his grandmother reprimanded him for being unkind, Filka turned away and muttered: “Oh, fuck you! I'm tired of it!

The winter this year was warm. Smoke hung in the air. Snow fell and immediately melted. Wet crows sat on the chimneys to dry off, pushed each other, and croaked at each other. Near the mill flume the water did not freeze, but stood black, quiet, and ice floes swirled in it.

Pankrat had repaired the mill by that time and was going to grind bread - the housewives were complaining that the flour was running out, each had two or three days left, and the grain lay unground.

On one of these warm gray days, a wounded horse knocked with its muzzle on the gate of Filka’s grandmother. Babya was not at home, and Filka was sitting at the table and chewing a piece of bread, sprinkled with salt.

Filka reluctantly stood up and went out the gate. The horse shifted from foot to foot and reached for the bread.

- Yah you! Devil! - Filka shouted and hit the horse in the mouth with a backhand.

The horse stumbled back, shook his head, and Filka threw the bread far into the loose snow and shouted:

- You can’t get enough of you, the Christ-loving people! There's your bread! Go dig it out from under the snow with your snout! Go dig!

And after this malicious shout, those amazing things happened in Berezhki, which people still talk about now, shaking their heads, because they themselves don’t know whether it happened or nothing like that happened.

A tear rolled down from the horse's eyes. The horse neighed pitifully, protractedly, waved his tail, and immediately a piercing wind howled and whistled in the bare trees, in the hedges and chimneys, the snow blew up, and powdered Filka’s throat. Filka rushed back into the house, but could not find the porch - the snow was already so shallow all around and it was getting in his eyes. Frozen straw from the roofs flew in the wind, birdhouses broke, torn shutters slammed. And columns of snow dust rose higher and higher from the surrounding fields, rushing towards the village, rustling, spinning, overtaking each other.

Filka finally jumped into the hut, locked the door, and said: “Fuck you!” - and listened. The blizzard roared madly, but through its roar Filka heard a thin and short whistle - the way a horse's tail whistles when an angry horse hits its sides with it.

The snowstorm began to subside in the evening, and only then was Filka’s grandmother able to get to her hut from her neighbor. And by night the sky turned green like ice, the stars froze to the vault of heaven, and a prickly frost passed through the village. No one saw him, but everyone heard the creak of his felt boots on the hard snow, heard how the frost, mischievously, squeezed the thick logs in the walls, and they cracked and burst.

The grandmother, crying, told Filka that the wells had probably already frozen and now inevitable death awaited them. There is no water, everyone has run out of flour, and the mill will now not be able to work, because the river has frozen to the very bottom.

Filka also began to cry with fear when the mice began to run out of the underground and bury themselves under the stove in the straw, where there was still some warmth left. "Yah you! Damned! - he shouted at the mice, but the mice kept climbing out of the underground. Filka climbed onto the stove, covered himself with a sheepskin coat, shook all over and listened to the grandmother’s lamentations.

“A hundred years ago, the same severe frost fell on our area,” said the grandmother. — I froze wells, killed birds, dried forests and gardens to the roots. Ten years after that, neither trees nor grass bloomed. The seeds in the ground withered and disappeared. Our land stood naked. Every animal ran around it - they were afraid of the desert.

- Why did that frost happen? - Filka asked.

“From human malice,” answered the grandmother. “An old soldier walked through our village and asked for bread in a hut, and the owner, an angry man, sleepy, loud, took it and gave only one stale crust. And he didn’t give it to him, but threw him on the floor and said: “Here you go!” Chew! “It’s impossible for me to pick up bread from the floor,” says the soldier. “I have a piece of wood instead of a leg.” - “Where did you put your leg?” - asks the man. “I lost my leg in the Balkan Mountains in a Turkish battle,” the soldier answers. "Nothing. “If you’re really hungry, you’ll get up,” the man laughed. “There are no valets for you here.” The soldier grunted, contrived, lifted the crust and saw that it was not bread, but just green mold. One poison! Then the soldier went out into the yard, whistled - and suddenly a snowstorm broke out, a blizzard, the storm swirled around the village, tore off the roofs, and then a severe frost hit. And the man died.

- Why did he die? - Filka asked hoarsely.

“From a cooling of the heart,” the grandmother answered, paused and added: “You know, even now a bad person has appeared in Berezhki, an offender, and has done an evil deed.” That's why it's cold.

- What should we do now, grandma? - Filka asked from under his sheepskin coat. - Should I really die?

- Why die? We must hope.

- For what?

- The fact that a bad person will correct his villainy.

- How can I fix it? - Filka asked, sobbing.

- And Pankrat knows about this, miller. He is a cunning old man, a scientist. You need to ask him. Can you really make it to the mill in such cold weather? The bleeding will stop immediately.

- Screw him, Pankrata! - Filka said and fell silent.

At night he climbed down from the stove. The grandmother was sleeping, sitting on the bench. Outside the windows the air was blue, thick, terrible. In the clear sky above the sedge trees stood the moon, decorated like a bride with pink crowns.

Filka pulled his sheepskin coat around him, jumped out into the street and ran to the mill. The snow sang underfoot, as if a team of cheerful sawyers were sawing down a birch grove across the river. It seemed as if the air had frozen and there was only one void left between the earth and the moon - burning and so clear that if a speck of dust had been raised a kilometer from the earth, then it would have been visible and it would have glowed and twinkled like a small star.

The black willows near the mill dam turned gray from the cold. Their branches sparkled like glass. The air pricked Filka's chest. He could no longer run, but walked heavily, shoveling snow with felt boots.

Filka knocked on the window of Pankratova's hut. Immediately, in the barn behind the hut, a wounded horse neighed and kicked. Filka gasped, squatted down in fear, and hid. Pankrat opened the door, grabbed Filka by the collar and dragged him into the hut.

“Sit down by the stove,” he said. - Tell me before you freeze.

Filka, crying, told Pankrat how he had offended the wounded horse and how because of this frost fell on the village.

“Yes,” Pankrat sighed, “your business is bad!” It turns out that because of you everyone is going to disappear. Why did you offend the horse? For what? You are a senseless citizen!

Filka sniffled and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

- Stop crying! - Pankrat said sternly. - You are all masters at roaring. Just a little bit of mischief - now there’s a roar. But I just don’t see the point in this. My mill stands as if sealed by frost forever, but there is no flour, no water, and we don’t know what we can come up with.

- What should I do now, Grandfather Pankrat? - Filka asked.

- Invent an escape from the cold. Then you will not be guilty before people. And in front of a wounded horse too. You will be a clean, cheerful person. Everyone will pat you on the shoulder and forgive you. It's clear?

- Well, come up with it. I give you an hour and a quarter.

A magpie lived in Pankrat's entryway. She did not sleep from the cold, sat on the collar - eavesdropping. Then she galloped sideways, looking around, towards the crack under the door. She jumped out, jumped onto the railing and flew straight south. The magpie was experienced, old, and deliberately flew close to the ground, because the villages and forests still offered warmth and the magpie was not afraid to freeze. No one saw her, only a fox in an aspen hole stuck her muzzle out of the hole, moved her nose, noticed how a magpie streaked across the sky like a dark shadow, darted back into the hole and sat for a long time, scratching herself and wondering: where is it going in such a way? terrible night did the magpie move?

And at that time Filka was sitting on the bench, fidgeting, and coming up with ideas.

“Well,” Pankrat finally said, trampling out his cigarette cigarette1, “your time is up.” Spit it out! There will be no grace period.

“I, Grandfather Pankrat,” said Filka, “at dawn, I will gather children from all over the village.” We will take crowbars, picks, axes, we will chop the ice at the tray near the mill until we reach the water and it flows onto the wheel. As soon as the water flows, you start the mill! You turn the wheel twenty times, it warms up and starts grinding. This means there will be flour, water, and universal salvation.

- Look how smart you are! - said the miller. — Under the ice, of course, there is water. And if the ice is as thick as your height, what will you do?

- Come on! - said Filka. - We, guys, will break through this ice too!

- What if you freeze?

- We will light fires.

- What if the guys don’t agree to pay for your stupidity with their humps? If they say: “Screw him! It’s your own fault—let the ice itself break”?

- They will agree! I'll beg them. Our guys are good.

- Well, go ahead, gather the guys. And I’ll talk to the old people. Maybe the old people will pull on their mittens and take up crowbars.

On frosty days, the sun rises crimson, covered in heavy smoke. And this morning such a sun rose over Berezhki. The frequent clatter of crowbars could be heard on the river. The fires were crackling. The guys and old people worked from dawn, chipping ice at the mill. And no one rashly noticed that in the afternoon the sky was covered with low clouds and a steady and warm wind blew through the gray willows. And when they noticed that the weather had changed, the willow branches had already thawed, and the wet Birch Grove. The air smelled of spring and manure.

The wind was blowing from the south. It was getting warmer every hour. Icicles fell from the roofs and broke with a ringing sound. The crows crawled out from under the restraints and dried again on the pipes, jostling and cawing.

Only the old magpie was missing. She arrived in the evening, when the ice began to settle due to the warmth, work at the mill went quickly and the first hole with dark water appeared.

The boys pulled off their three-piece hats and shouted “Hurray.” Pankrat said that if it weren’t for the warm wind, then, perhaps, the children and old people would not have been able to break off the ice. And the magpie was sitting on a willow tree above the dam, chattering, shaking its tail, bowing in all directions and telling something, but no one except the crows understood it. And the magpie said that she flew to the warm sea, where the summer wind was sleeping in the mountains, woke him up, told him about the bitter frost and begged him to drive away this frost and help people.

The wind seemed to not dare to refuse her, the magpie, and blew and rushed over the fields, whistling and laughing at the frost. And if you listen carefully, you can already hear warm water bubbling and bubbling through the ravines under the snow, washing the roots of lingonberries, breaking the ice on the river.

Everyone knows that the magpie is the most chatty bird in the world, and therefore the crows did not believe it - they only croaked among themselves, saying that the old one was lying again.

So to this day no one knows whether the magpie was telling the truth, or whether she made it all up out of boasting. The only thing that is known is that by evening the ice cracked and dispersed, the boys and the old people pressed, and water rushed noisily into the mill chute.

The old wheel creaked - icicles fell from it - and slowly turned. The millstones began to grind, then the wheel turned faster, even faster, and suddenly the whole old mill began to shake, began to shake, and started knocking, creaking, and grinding grain.

Pankrat poured grain, and hot flour poured into the bags from under the millstone. The women dipped their chilled hands into it and laughed.

In all the yards, ringing birch firewood was chopping. The huts glowed from the hot stove fire. The women kneaded tight, sweet dough. And everything that was alive in the huts - children, cats, even mice - all this hovered around the housewives, and the housewives slapped the children on the back with a hand white with flour so that they would not get into the very bowl1 and would not get in the way.

At night, throughout the village there was such a smell of warm bread with a golden brown crust, with cabbage leaves burnt to the bottom, that even the foxes crawled out of their holes, sat in the snow, trembled and whined quietly, wondering how they could manage to steal at least a piece of this wonderful bread from people.

The next morning Filka came with the guys to the mill. The wind drove loose clouds across the blue sky and did not allow them to catch their breath for a minute, and therefore cold shadows and hot sun spots alternated across the ground.

Filka was carrying a loaf of fresh bread, and the very little boy Nikolka was holding a wooden salt shaker with coarse yellow salt.

Pankrat came out to the threshold and asked:

- What kind of phenomenon? Are you bringing me some bread and salt? For what kind of merit?

- Not really! - the guys shouted. - You will be special. And this is for a wounded horse. From Filka. We want to reconcile them.

“Well,” said Pankrat. “It’s not just humans who need an apology. Now I will introduce you to the horse in real life.

Pankrat opened the barn gate and let out the horse. The horse came out, stretched out his head, neighed - he smelled the smell of fresh bread. Filka broke the loaf, salted the bread from the salt shaker and handed it to the horse. But the horse did not take the bread, began to shuffle with its feet, and retreated into the barn. Filki was scared. Then Filka began to cry loudly in front of the whole village. The guys whispered and became quiet, and Pankrat patted the horse on the neck and said:

- Don't be scared, Boy! Filka - no evil person. Why offend him? Take the bread and make peace!

The horse shook his head, thought, then carefully stretched his neck and finally took the bread from Filka’s hands with soft lips. He ate one piece, sniffed Filka and took the second piece. Filka grinned through his tears, and the horse chewed bread and snorted. And when he had eaten all the bread, he laid his head on Filka’s shoulder, sighed and closed his eyes from satiety and pleasure.

Everyone was smiling and happy. Only the old magpie sat on the willow tree and chattered angrily: she must have again boasted that she alone managed to reconcile the horse with Filka. But no one listened to her or understood her, and this made the magpie more and more angry and crackled like a machine gun.