What Stepan liked the mistress of the copper mountain. Review of the fairy tale by P.P. Bazhov “The Mistress of the Copper Mountain

Koval Yuri Iosifovich

Pure Dor (Stories)

Yuri Iosifovich Koval

Pure Dor

stories

For senior preschool and primary school age.

Along the forest road

Pure Dor

spring evening

purple bird

Under the pines

Around the war

birch pie

piece of iron

potato sense

Cap with carp

Bunkin's horns

Water with closed eyes

black

snowdrops

Last page

FOREST ROAD

The sun has been hot for a week now.

The forest road was dry and white with dust.

In the ruts where there were once deep puddles, the earth burst, and the cracks covered it with a dense network. There, in the ruts, small, dry frogs jumped.

From afar I saw: in a roadside ditch, in the raspberry bushes, a white handkerchief flickers. A small old woman was looking for something in the grass.

Have you lost a needle? I joked as I approached.

Axe, father. Yesterday I hid it, but I forgot under which bush.

I rummaged through the raspberries. Dust fell from shaggy brown stems and withered leaves. The ax gleamed in the shadows under the bushes like a deep-seated fish.

Here it is! - the old woman was delighted. - And I think: did the forester take it away?

What lumberjack?

And in the forest that lives. Terrible something of a kind - bull belmischi.

The beard is blue, - the old woman confirmed, - and there are spots on it.

Have you seen the lumberjack?

I saw, father, I saw. He goes to our store to buy sugar.

Where does he get money from?

He does it himself, - the old woman answered and went out of the way. Her handkerchief immediately disappeared in the tall grass and fluttered out only under the trees.

Despite the sunny day, it was dark under the trees. Somewhere in this darkness, away from the road, the forester is probably sitting.

Suddenly the forest ended and I saw large field like a round lake. In the very center of it, like an island, stood a village.

Oily blue waves roamed the field. It was flax in bloom. The high sky dome rested against the forest tops that surrounded the field from all sides.

I looked at the village and did not know what it was called, and, of course, I did not think that I would begin to live here, that I would again see an old woman in a white headscarf and even a forester.

PURE DOR

The forest road went through the field - it became a field road. She reached the village and turned into a village street.

On the sides stood tall and strong houses. Their roofs were covered with aspen chips. On some houses, the wood chips turned gray from the wind and time, while on others it was new, golden under the sun.

While I was walking to the crane-well, people were looking at me through all the windows: what kind of person is this, they say?

I stumbled and thought they would laugh in the windows, but everyone remained stern behind the glass.

Having drunk, I sat down on a log by the well.

A window opened in the house opposite. A woman looked at me and said inside the room:

Drunk and sitting.

And the window closed again.

Two ganders approached, they wanted to cackle, but they did not dare: what kind of stranger is this?

Suddenly, on the road, I saw an old woman, the same one who was looking for an ax in the forest. Now she was dragging a long birch pole.

Let's help.

Did you find me an axe?

And I thought: didn’t the forester take it away?

I took the pole and dragged it after the old woman.

A window in a five-windowed house was flung open, and a shaggy head poked out from behind a pot of lemon.

Pantelevna, - said the head, - whose boyfriend is this?

Mine, - answered Pantelevna. - He found an axe.

We went a little further. All the people who met us were surprised: with whom is Pantelevna going?

A woman called out from the garden:

Isn't this your nephew from Olyushin?

Nephew! Pantelevna shouted back. - He found an ax for me.

Here I was very surprised that I had become a nephew, but I did not show it and silently kept pace with Pantelevna.

Another woman met with a girl in her arms.

Who is carrying the birch? she asked.

My nephew, - answered Pantelevna. - He found an ax, and I thought: did the forester take it away?

So, while we were walking through the village, Pantelevna told everyone that I was her nephew, and talked about the ax.

And now he's bringing me a birch!

Why is he silent? someone asked.

How can I be so silent? - I said. - I'm her nephew. She lost the ax and thinks if the forester took it away, but he was lying in raspberries. And I'm her nephew.

Come here, father nephew. Here is our house.

When a line of soldiers is lined up, the tallest and bravest are in front, and at the end there is always a small soldier. So Pantelevna's house stood at the end and was the smallest, with three windows. They say about such houses that they are covered with a cake, covered with a pancake.

I threw the birch on the ground and sat down on a bench in front of the house.

What is the name of your village? I asked.

Pure Dor.

What is Clean?

Dor... I've never heard such a word before.

What is Pure Dor?

This, father, is our village, - Pantelevna explained.

Understandable, understandable. What is dor?

And dor - that's it all, dor something. Everything around the village is all dor.

I looked and saw a field around the village, and beyond the field - a forest.

What is this dor? This is a field, but not a dor at all.

This is dor. All clean, look. It's all dor, and where the Christmas trees are, it's all boron.

So I understood that dor is a field, but not just a simple field, but in the middle of a forest. Here, too, there used to be a forest, and then the trees were cut down, the stumps were pulled out. Pulled, pulled - it turned out dor.

Well, all right, - I said, - dor so dor, but I have to go further.

Where are you, father, nephew? Here I will put a samovar.

Well, I waited for the samovar. And then evening approached, and I stayed the night.

Where are you? - said Pantelevna the next morning. - Live here. Enough space in the hut.

I thought and thought, sent a telegram to the right place and stayed with Pantelevna. I don’t know how it happened, but I only lived with her not for a day or a month, but for a whole year.

Lived and wrote his book. Not this one, but another.

This is my niche in Moscow.

I look out the window at the cloudy fire tower and remember Chisty Dor.

By the bend of the Yalma River, in an old bath house, lived, by the way, Uncle Zui.

Yuri Koval

PURE DOR

(Stories)

Along the forest road

The sun has been hot for a week now.

The forest road was dry and white with dust.

In the ruts where there were once deep puddles, the earth burst, and the cracks covered it with a dense network. There, in the ruts, small, dry frogs jumped.

From afar I saw: in a roadside ditch, in the raspberry bushes, a white handkerchief flickers. A small old woman was looking for something in the grass.

Have you lost a needle? I joked as I approached.

Axe, father. Yesterday I hid it, but I forgot under which bush.

I rummaged through the raspberries. Dust fell from shaggy brown stems and withered leaves. The ax gleamed in the shadows under the bushes like a deep-seated fish.

Here it is! - the old woman was delighted. - And I think: did the forester take it away?

What lumberjack?

And in the forest that lives. Terrible something of a kind - bull belmischi.

The beard is blue, - the old woman confirmed, - and there are spots on it.

Have you seen the lumberjack?

I saw, father, I saw. He goes to our store to buy sugar.

Where does he get money from?

He does it himself, - the old woman answered and went out of the way. Her handkerchief immediately disappeared in the tall grass and fluttered out only under the trees.

Despite the sunny day, it was dark under the trees. Somewhere in this darkness, away from the road, the forester is probably sitting.

Suddenly the forest ended, and I saw a large field, like a round lake. In the very center of it, like an island, stood a village.

Oily blue waves roamed the field. It was flax in bloom. The high sky dome rested against the forest tops that surrounded the field from all sides.

I looked at the village and did not know what it was called, and, of course, I did not think that I would begin to live here, that I would again see an old woman in a white headscarf and even a forester.

Pure Dor

The forest road went through the field - it became a field road. She reached the village and turned into a village street.

On the sides stood tall and strong houses. Their roofs were covered with aspen chips. On some houses, the wood chips turned gray from the wind and time, while on others it was new, golden under the sun.

While I was walking to the crane-well, people were looking at me through all the windows: what kind of person is this, they say?

I stumbled and thought they would laugh in the windows, but everyone remained stern behind the glass.

Having drunk, I sat down on a log by the well.

A window opened in the house opposite. A woman looked at me and said inside the room:

Drunk and sitting.

And the window closed again.

Two ganders approached, they wanted to cackle, but they did not dare: what kind of stranger is this?

Suddenly, on the road, I saw an old woman, the same one who was looking for an ax in the forest. Now she was dragging a long birch pole.

Let's help.

Did you find me an axe?

And I thought: didn’t the forester take it away?

I took the pole and dragged it after the old woman.

A window in a five-windowed house was flung open, and a shaggy head poked out from behind a pot of lemon.

Pantelevna, - said the head, - whose boyfriend is this?

Mine, - answered Pantelevna. - He found an axe.

We went a little further. All the people who met us were surprised: with whom is Pantelevna going?

A woman called out from the garden:

Isn't this your nephew from Olyushin?

Nephew! Pantelevna shouted back. - He found an ax for me.

Here I was very surprised that I had become a nephew, but I did not show it and silently kept pace with Pantelevna.

Another woman met with a girl in her arms.

Who is carrying the birch? she asked.

My nephew, - answered Pantelevna. - He found an ax, and I thought: did the forester take it away?

So, while we were walking through the village, Pantelevna told everyone that I was her nephew, and talked about the ax.

And now he's bringing me a birch!

Why is he silent? someone asked.

How can I be so silent? - I said. - I'm her nephew. She lost the ax and thinks if the forester took it away, but he was lying in raspberries. And I'm her nephew.

Come here, father nephew. Here is our house.

When a line of soldiers is lined up, the tallest and bravest are in front, and at the end there is always a small soldier. So Pantelevna's house stood at the end and was the smallest, with three windows. They say about such houses that they are covered with a cake, covered with a pancake.

I threw the birch on the ground and sat down on a bench in front of the house.

What is the name of your village? I asked.

Pure Dor.

What is Clean?

Dor… I had never heard such a word before.

What is Pure Dor?

This, father, is our village, - Pantelevna explained.

Understandable, understandable. What is dor?

And dor - that's it all, dor something. Everything around the village is all dor.

I looked and saw a field around the village, and beyond the field - a forest.

What is this dor? This is a field, but not a dor at all.

This is dor. All clean, look. It's all dor, and where the Christmas trees are, it's all boron.

So I understood that dor is a field, but not just a simple field, but in the middle of a forest. Here, too, there used to be a forest, and then the trees were cut down, the stumps were pulled out. Pulled, pulled - it turned out dor.

Well, all right, - I said, - dor so dor, but I have to go further.

Where are you, father, nephew? Here I will put a samovar.

Well, I waited for the samovar. And then evening approached, and I stayed the night.

Where are you? - said Pantelevna the next morning. - Live here. Enough space in the hut.

I thought and thought, sent a telegram to the right place and stayed with Pantelevna. I don’t know how it happened, but I only lived with her not for a day or a month, but for a whole year.

Lived and wrote his book. Not this one, but another.

This is my niche in Moscow.

I look out the window at the cloudy fire tower and remember Chisty Dor.

By the bend of the Yalma River, in an old bath house, lived, by the way, Uncle Zui.

He lived not alone, but with his granddaughter Nyurka, and he had everything he needed - both chickens and a cow.

There are just no pigs, - Uncle Zui said. - And for what good man pig?

Back in the summer, Uncle Zui mowed the grass in the forest and swept a stack of hay, but not just swept it away - cunningly: he put the stack not on the ground, as everyone does, but right on the sled, so that it would be more convenient to take the hay out of the forest in winter.

And when winter came, Uncle Zui forgot about that hay.

Grandfather, - says Nyurka, - why don’t you bring hay from the forest? Oh, did you forget?

What kind of hay? - Uncle Zui was surprised, and then slapped his forehead and ran to the chairman to ask for a horse.

The chairman gave the horse a good, strong one. On it, Uncle Zui soon reached the place. He looks - his stack is covered with snow.

He began to scatter the snow around the sleigh with his foot, then looked back - there was no horse: she was gone, damned!

He ran after him - he caught up, but the horse does not go to the haystack, it rests.

“Why would she,” Uncle Zui thinks, “does she resist?”

Finally, Uncle Zui harnessed her to the sleigh.

Uncle Zui smacks his lips, screams, but the horse does not move - the runners are firmly frozen to the ground. I had to tap on them with a hatchet - the sleigh started off, and a stack was on them. So it goes, as it stood in the forest.

Uncle Zui walks from the side, smacking his lips at the horse.

By dinner time we reached the house, Uncle Zui began to unharness.

What did you bring, Zuyushko? Pantelevna shouts to him.

Seno, Pantelevna. Why else?

And what do you have on the cart?

Uncle Zui looked and as he stood, he sat down in the snow. Some kind of terrible, crooked and furry muzzle stuck out from the cart - a bear!

"R-ru-u-u! .."

The bear stirred on the cart, tilted the haystack to one side and fell out into the snow. He shook his head, grabbed the snow in his teeth and ran into the forest.

Stop! shouted Uncle Zui. - Hold it, Pantelevna.

The bear barked and disappeared into the trees.

The people began to gather.

The hunters have come, and I, of course, with them. We crowd, look at bear tracks.

Hunter Pasha says:

Look what a lair he came up with - Zuev Stozhok.

And Pantelevna screams, frightened:

How did he not bite you, Zuyushko? ..

Yes, - said Uncle Zui, - now the hay will smell like bear meat. Even a cow will probably not take him in his mouth.

spring evening

The sun hung in the aspen branches and disappeared behind the forest. The sunset blurred in the sky.

Low, half a birch, a large hawk flew over the clearing. He flew silently, not moving his blue wings at all.

I was standing in a clearing where there was almost no snow. Only under the tall trees the snowdrifts were still getting colder.

I felt a strange smell coming from the ground. From old grass, some short stems stuck out of the rotten leaves. They bloomed small lilac flowers. I wanted to pick a few, but the stems did not give in, bent in my hands and finally burst, breaking. They were hollow - empty inside.