One day one of the workers gave me a tiny chick, born late in the season. We put it in a basket with some straw in it. I covered it with my handkerchief and went ahead of Mother to hide it in the carriage, and waited there impatiently. I was afraid that the little thing would die before we reached home. Soon after Mother heard the chick cry, she said, “You have taken a baby from its mother. You must keep it well and happy.” This chick taught me my first lesson in responsibility. You never saw so much affection lavished on such a small thing. I fed it most tenderly and presented it with my precious pillow which until then had belonged to my doll. In spite of my devoted care the chick’s cries grew fainter and fainter and one morning I found it lying on its back. It was a shock. I decided to give my chick a funeral. I dressed it regally with veil and gown and, as a great concession, I allowed Marie and Alexei to help lay the little form on a mattress of rose petals in a pretty box. A bouquet of white flowers was placed on its breast. Then we invited everyone to the funeral. Besides, I wanted no one to miss seeing how beautifully I had prepared my pet. Alexei was the priest, Marie and I chanted mournfully. Derevenko, the sailor, prepared the grave. The box was opened for all to see. At last the box was closed and placed on top of a stretcher, which was hoisted up on the pallbearers’ shoulders. I, the chief mourner, led the procession with a black band on my arm. We buried the box amidst quantities of flowers, then marked the grave with the prettiest stones. For a week I mourned at the grave every day, wondering how the chick looked after its journey to heaven. Finally, I dug up the box. I opened the cover expecting that the little angel had flown away, but instead I ran to Mother to tell her the worms were eating my pet. Mother explained that the box contained the shell of the chick, the soul was already flown away, now nature was destroying only the shell.