It was night. Volodya’s room was dark. He had gone to bed but he could
not sleep. He was lying on his back and was looking at the ceiling.
Some one was walking in the street with a lantern. His shadow traversed
the ceiling, among the red spots of light thrown by the lantern. It was
evident that the lantern swung in the hands of the passer-by—the shadow
wavered and seemed agitated.
Volodya felt a sadness and a fear. He quickly pulled the bed-cover over
his head, and, trembling in his haste, he turned on his right side and
began to encourage himself.
He then felt soothed and warm. His mind began to weave sweet, naïve
fancies, the fancies which visited him usually before sleep.
Often when he went to bed he felt suddenly afraid; he felt as though he
were becoming smaller and weaker. He would then hide among the pillows,
and gradually became soothed and loving, and wished his mother were
there that he might put his arms round her neck and kiss her.