The Pantry of the Sun

In a village near Bludovo Marshes, not far from Pereslavl-Zalessky, two boys were left orphans: their mother died of an illness, and their father never returned from the Patriotic War.

We lived in the same village—just next door to them. That’s why, like the other neighbors, we tried to support the children and help them in every way we could. The boys were remarkably wonderful.

Nastya looked like a golden little hen with long legs. Her hair—neither dark nor light—gleamed with gold, and her face was sprinkled with large, frequent freckles, as if golden coins didn’t have enough space and had spilled out in all directions. Only her nose stayed clean and a bit playfully looked upward, like a little parrot’s.

Mitrosha was two years younger than his sister—he had barely turned ten. Not tall, but sturdy and solid, with a broad back of the head and a high forehead. He was a stubborn, strong boy.