The old, torn and dirty trousers... I had no heart to throw them into discard. I hung them up on the branch of the old willow, sat down and got a trip down memory line. The trousers were sewn of homespun canvas; the canvas was spun by Chebanchuchka who got it in the division of my estate. She wove the canvas together with my Mother in winter nights when Mother hosted the "club" of the village women at her place. It was fun! The women told stories and Mother treated them with homemade delicacies.
How merry, peaceful and happy we were! And now I leave here the trousers made of that canvas. Their fate has been accomplished. But what fate is in store for me?