“I bet you every day’s a Sunday with them,” I thought, gazing with envy at the sparrows. Staring at the acacia, I began, probably for the two hundred and fiftieth time, comparing my life to theirs and came to a very sad conclusion. A glance was enough to tell you that the birds and all the insects led a carefree life and had a wonderful time: no one was waiting for anybody, no one was learning anything no one was sent places, no one had to listen to lectures, no one had spades stuck into his hands. Every day a red-letter day. Seven days a week and all of them Sundays! And Malinin and I had one day of rest a week if you can call that a day of rest! It would be fine to live at least one day like these happy creatures lived-these tiny ants, these sparrows or these butterflies. Anything, so long as you didn’t have to hear all those verbs that kept raining down on your poor head from morning till night — wake, dress, go, fetch, bring, buy, sweep, help, learn! At school, it was no better.