Je was op zoek naar: you can't have one without the other (Engels - Tagalog)

you can't have the best of mine
you cant have what mine

you can't have this
hindi mo ako makukuha

you can't have my mat
can't have my mat

one on one without the ball
isa sa isa na walang bola

loving someone you can't have
having someone you can't love

because you can't have everything all at once
coz u can't everything without married know?

loving someone you can't have or having someone you can't love
pagmamahal sa isang tao na hindi mo maaaring magkaroon o pagkakaroon ng isang tao na hindi mo maaaring mahalin

one cannot go home without the other,or one can no longer perform in school without being attended to by the other
hindi isa ay maaaring pumunta sa bahay kung wala ang isa, o maaari isa hindi na gumanap sa paaralan nang hindi nag-aral sa pamamagitan ng iba pang

title: "loving someone you can't have: pagmamahal sa di makakatuluyan"
title: "loving someone you can't have: pagmamahal sa di makakatuluyan"

i said that you can't have five children with you when you don't have a penny to make them eat and live peacefully, you have to send them away from your husband.
i said that you can't have five children with you when you don't have a penny to make them eat and live peacefully, you have to send them away from your husband.

life is not just about what you can't have but also what we can be even how sorrounding tell us that we can't acquaintance nigth to may hair and make up thank you tito lemuel colis to my outfit thank you mudrabels for the cash another year of success.��������
talinhagang dalita

every partner may associate another person with him in his share, but the associate shall not be admitted into the partnership without the consent of all the other partners, even if the partner having an associate should be a manager.
bawat partner ay maaaring iugnay sa ibang tao na kasama niya sa kaniyang share, ngunit ang associate hindi dapat admitido sa partnership nang walang pahintulot ng lahat ng iba pang mga kasosyo, kahit na ang kapareha isang associate ay dapat na isang manager.

without the other the two of them are great family. i can confirm that she is a woman of great integrity is my extremely dedicated to her family and she is entirely peace loving person . please do not hesitate to contact me if you should require any further information
ako _____ residente ng ______ ay sumusulat ng isang sanggunian para sa ____. sa kanino ko personal na kilala sa loob ng 10 taon bilang aking mabuting kaibigan. bilang isang kaibigan ng pamilya ng florencia napanood ko ang kanyang anak na si michael at nabuo niya ang malusog na bono na dapat pormulahin ng ina at anak. si florencia ay palaging naging bahagi ng buhay ni michael sa pamamagitan ng pagbibigay ng suporta at gabay ng isang mabuting ina. sa katunayan ang flight renia ay hindi kailanman nakaligtaan ang sinuman sa mga mahahalagang bagay kahit na siya ay may sakit. sa totoo lang hindi ko maisip ang isa kung wala ang t

none of the partners may, without the consent of the others, make any important alteration in the immovable property of the partnership, even if it may be useful to the partnership. but if the refusal of consent by the other partners is manifestly prejudicial to the interest of the partnership, the court's intervention may be sought.
wala sa mga kasosyo ay maaaring, nang walang pagsang-ayon ng iba, gumawa ng anumang mahalagang pagbabago sa hindi magagalaw ng ari-arian ng pakikipagsosyo, kahit na maaaring ito ay kapaki-pakinabang sa partnership. ngunit kung ang pagtanggi ng pahintulot sa pamamagitan ng iba pang mga kasosyo ay tila makasasama sa interes ng partnership, interbensyon ng hukuman ay maaaring hinahangad.

my job is to say that this is a very difficult job because the taste of human food is not the same ... some people like it slightly salty while others want it a little too much .. though you can't avoid complaining about other people. ..and the other is that you will run out of other ingredients for your cooking ... maybe the food provision has not arrived because sometimes the airline is far away and no one will deliver our delivery order to our ship ...
ang aking trabaho ay masasabi nating isa itong pinaka mahirap na trabaho dahil ang panlasa ng tao sa mga pagkain ay hindi pare pareho...yong iba gusto medyo maalat yong iba ang gusto medyo matabang ..jan hindi mo maiwasan ang reklamo ng ibang tao...at ang isa pa ay yong maubusan ka ng mga ibang rekado para sa gagawin mong mga lulutuin..dahil ang provision na pagkain ay hindi pa dumarating dahil minsan malayo ang byahe at walang maghahatid ng aming order na provision sa aming barko...

my job is to say that this is a very difficult job because the taste of human food is not the same ... some people like it slightly salty while others want it a little too much .. though you can't avoid complaining about other people. ..and the other is that you will run out of other ingredients for your cooking ... maybe the food provision has not arrived because sometimes the airline is far away and no one will deliver our delivery order to our ship maraming mga tao na hindi makontento at hindi mo..
ang aking trabaho ay masasabi nating isa itong pinaka mahirap na trabaho dahil ang panlasa ng tao sa mga pagkain ay hindi pare pareho...yong iba gusto medyo maalat yong iba ang gusto medyo matabang ..jan hindi mo maiwasan ang reklamo ng ibang tao...at ang isa pa ay yong maubusan ka ng mga ibang rekado para sa gagawin mong mga lulutuin..dahil ang provision na pagkain ay hindi pa dumarating dahil minsan malayo ang byahe at walang maghahatid ng aming order na provision sa aming barko...

classic short stories logo a day in the country by anton pavlovich chekhov (1860-1904) approximate word count: 2385 between eight and nine o'clock in the morning. a dark leaden-coloured mass is creeping over the sky towards the sun. red zigzags of lightning gleam here and there across it. there is a sound of far-away rumbling. a warm wind frolics over the grass, bends the trees, and stirs up the dust. in a minute there will be a spurt of may rain and a real storm will begin. fyokla, a little beggar-girl of six, is running through the village, looking for terenty the cobbler. the white-haired, barefoot child is pale. her eyes are wide-open, her lips are trembling. "uncle, where is terenty?" she asks every one she meets. no one answers. they are all preoccupied with the approaching storm and take refuge in their huts. at last she meets silanty silitch, the sacristan, terenty's bosom friend. he is coming along, staggering from the wind. "uncle, where is terenty?" "at the kitchen-gardens," answers silanty. the beggar-girl runs behind the huts to the kitchen-gardens and there finds terenty; the tall old man with a thin, pock-marked face, very long legs, and bare feet, dressed in a woman's tattered jacket, is standing near the vegetable plots, looking with drowsy, drunken eyes at the dark storm-cloud. on his long crane-like legs he sways in the wind like a starling-cote. "uncle terenty!" the white-headed beggar-girl addresses him. "uncle, darling!" terenty bends down to fyokla, and his grim, drunken face is overspread with a smile, such as come into people's faces when they look at something little, foolish, and absurd, but warmly loved. "ah! servant of god, fyokla," he says, lisping tenderly, "where have you come from?" "uncle terenty," says fyokla, with a sob, tugging at the lapel of the cobbler's coat. "brother danilka has had an accident! come along!" "what sort of accident? ough, what thunder! holy, holy, holy . what sort of accident?" "in the count's copse danilka stuck his hand into a hole in a tree, and he can't get it out. come along, uncle, do be kind and pull his hand out!" "how was it he put his hand in? what for?" "he wanted to get a cuckoo's egg out of the hole for me." "the day has hardly begun and already you are in trouble ."terenty shook his head and spat deliberately. "well, what am i to do with you now? i must come i must, may the wolf gobble you up, you naughty children! come, little orphan!" terenty comes out of the kitchen-garden and, lifting high his long legs, begins striding down the village street. he walks quickly without stopping or looking from side to side, as though he were shoved from behind or afraid of pursuit. fyokla can hardly keep up with him. they come out of the village and turn along the dusty road towards the count's copse that lies dark blue in the distance. it is about a mile and a half away. the clouds have by now covered the sun, and soon afterwards there is not a speck of blue left in the sky. it grows dark. "holy, holy, holy " whispers fyokla, hurrying after terenty. the first rain-drops, big and heavy, lie, dark dots on the dusty road. a big drop falls on fyokla's cheek and glides like a tear down her chin. "the rain has begun," mutters the cobbler, kicking up the dust with his bare, bony feet. "that's fine, fyokla, old girl. the grass and the trees are fed by the rain, as we are by bread. and as for the thunder, don't you be frightened, little orphan. why should it kill a little thing like you?" as soon as the rain begins, the wind drops. the only sound is the patter of rain dropping like fine shot on the young rye and the parched road. "we shall get soaked, fyokla," mutters terenty. "there won't be a dry spot left on us .ho-ho, my girl! it's run down my neck! but don't be frightened, silly .the grass will be dry again, the earth will be dry again, and we shall be dry again. there is the same sun for us all." a flash of lightning, some fourteen feet long, gleams above their head. there is a loud peal of thunder, and it seems to fyokla that something big, heavy, and round is rolling over the sky and tearing it open, exactly over her head. "holy, holy, holy " says terenty, crossing himself. "don't be afraid, little orphan! it is not from spite that it thunders." terenty's and fyokla's feet are covered with lumps of heavy, wet clay. it is slippery and difficult to walk, but terenty strides on more and more rapidly. the weak little beggar-girl is breathless and ready to drop. but at last they go into the count's copse. the washed trees, stirred by a gust of wind, drop a perfect waterfall upon them. terenty stumbles over stumps and begins to slacken his pace. "whereabouts is danilka?" he asks. "lead me to him." fyokla leads him into a thicket, and, after going a quarter of a mile, points to danilka. her brother, a little fellow of eight, with hair as red as ochre and a pale sickly face, stands leaning against a tree, and, with his head on one side, looking sideways at the sky. in one hand he holds his shabby old cap, the other is hidden in an old lime tree. the boy is gazing at the stormy sky, and apparently not thinking of his trouble. hearing footsteps and seeing the cobbler he gives sickly smile and says: "a terrible lot of thunder, terenty .i've never heard so much thunder in all my life." "and where is your hand?" "in the hole .pull it out, please, terenty!" the wood had broken at the edge of the hole and jammed danilka's hand: he could push it farther in, but could not pull it out. terenty snaps off the broken piece, and the boy's hand, red and crushed, is released. "it's terrible how it's thundering," the boy says again, rubbing his hand. "what makes it thunder, terenty?" "one cloud runs against the other," answers the cobbler. the party come out of the copse, and walk along the edge of it towards the darkened road. the thunder gradually abates, and its rumbling is heard far away beyond the village. "the ducks flew by here the other day, terenty," says danilka, still rubbing his hand. "they must be nesting in the gniliya zaimishtcha marshes .fyokla, would you like me to show you a nightingale's nest?" "don't touch it, you might disturb them," says terenty, wringing the water out of his cap. "the nightingale is a singing-bird, without sin. he has had a voice given him in his throat, to praise god and gladden the heart of man. it's a sin to disturb him." "what about the sparrow?" "the sparrow doesn't matter, he's a bad, spiteful bird. he is like a pickpocket in his ways. he doesn't like man to be happy. when christ was crucified it was the sparrow brought nails to the jews, and called 'alive! alive!' " a bright patch of blue appears in the sky. "look!" says terenty. "an ant-heap burst open by the rain! they've been flooded, the rogues!" they bend over the ant-heap. the downpour has damaged it; the insects are scurrying to and fro in the mud, agitated, and busily trying to carry away their drowned companions. "you needn't be in such a taking, you won't die of it!" says terenty, grinning. "as soon as the sun warms you, you'll come to your senses again .it's a lesson to you, you stupids. you won't settle on low ground another time." they go on. "and here are some bees," cries danilka, pointing to the branch of a young oak tree. the drenched and chilled bees are huddled together on the branch. there are so many of them that neither bark nor leaf can be seen. many of them are settled on one another. "that's a swarm of bees," terenty informs them. "they were flying looking for a home, and when the rain came down upon them they settled. if a swarm is flying, you need only sprinkle water on them to make them settle. now if, say, you wanted to take the swarm, you would bend the branch with them into a sack and shake it, and they all fall in." little fyokla suddenly frowns and rubs her neck vigorously. her brother looks at her neck, and sees a big swelling on it. "hey-hey!" laughs the cobbler. "do you know where you got that from, fyokla, old girl? there are spanish flies on some tree in the wood. the rain has trickled off them, and a drop has fallen on your neck—that's what has made the swelling." the sun appears from behind the clouds and floods the wood, the fields, and the three friends with its warm light. the dark menacing cloud has gone far away and taken the storm with it. the air is warm and fragrant. there is a scent of bird-cherry, meadowsweet, and lilies-of-the-valley. "that herb is given when your nose bleeds," says terenty, pointing to a woolly-looking flower. "it does good." they hear a whistle and a rumble, but not such a rumble as the storm-clouds carried away. a goods train races by before the eyes of terenty, danilka, and fyokla. the engine, panting and puffing out black smoke, drags more than twenty vans after it. its power is tremendous. the children are interested to know how an engine, not alive and without the help of horses, can move and drag such weights, and terenty undertakes to explain it to them: "it's all the steam's doing, children . the steam does the work . you see, it shoves under that thing near the wheels, and it you see it works " they cross the railway line, and, going down from the embankment, walk towards the river. they walk not with any object, but just at random, and talk all the way . danilka asks questions, terenty answers them terenty answers all his questions, and there is no secret in nature which baffles him. he knows everything. thus, for example, he knows the names of all the wild flowers, animals, and stones. he knows what herbs cure diseases, he has no difficulty in telling the age of a horse or a cow. looking at the sunset, at the moon, or the birds, he can tell what sort of weather it will be next day. and indeed, it is not only terenty who is so wise. silanty silitch, the innkeeper, the market-gardener, the shepherd, and all the villagers, generally speaking, know as much as he does. these people have learned not from books, but in the fields, in the wood, on the river bank. their teachers have been the birds themselves, when they sang to them, the sun when it left a glow of crimson behind it at setting, the very trees, and wild herbs. danilka looks at terenty and greedily drinks in every word. in spring, before one is weary of the warmth and the monotonous green of the fields, when everything is fresh and full of fragrance, who would not want to hear about the golden may-beetles, about the cranes, about the gurgling streams, and the corn mounting into ear? the two of them, the cobbler and the orphan, walk about the fields, talk unceasingly, and are not weary. they could wander about the world endlessly. they walk, and in their talk of the beauty of the earth do not notice the frail little beggar-girl tripping after them. she is breathless and moves with a lagging step. there are tears in her eyes; she would be glad to stop these inexhaustible wanderers, but to whom and where can she go? she has no home or people of her own; whether she likes it or not, she must walk and listen to their talk. towards midday, all three sit down on the river bank. danilka takes out of his bag a piece of bread, soaked and reduced to a mash, and they begin to eat. terenty says a prayer when he has eaten the bread, then stretches himself on the sandy bank and falls asleep. while he is asleep, the boy gazes at the water, pondering. he has many different things to think of. he has just seen the storm, the bees, the ants, the train. now, before his eyes, fishes are whisking about. some are two inches long and more, others are no bigger than one's nail. a viper, with its head held high, is swimming from one bank to the other. only towards the evening our wanderers return to the village. the children go for the night to a deserted barn, where the corn of the commune used to be kept, while terenty, leaving them, goes to the tavern. the children lie huddled together on the straw, dozing. the boy does not sleep. he gazes into the darkness, and it seems to him that he is seeing all that he has seen in the day: the storm-clouds, the bright sunshine, the birds, the fish, lanky terenty. the number of his impressions, together with exhaustion and hunger, are too much for him; he is as hot as though he were on fire, and tosses from side to side. he longs to tell someone all that is haunting him now in the darkness and agitating his soul, but there is no one to tell. fyokla is too little and could not understand. "i'll tell terenty to-morrow," thinks the boy. the children fall asleep thinking of the homeless cobbler, and, in the night, terenty comes to them, makes the sign of the cross over them, and puts bread under their heads. and no one sees his love. it is seen only by the moon which floats in the sky and peeps caressingly through the holes in the wall of the deserted barn.
classic short stories logo a day in the country by anton pavlovich chekhov (1860-1904) approximate word count: 2385 between eight and nine o'clock in the morning. a dark leaden-coloured mass is creeping over the sky towards the sun. red zigzags of lightning gleam here and there across it. there is a sound of far-away rumbling. a warm wind frolics over the grass, bends the trees, and stirs up the dust. in a minute there will be a spurt of may rain and a real storm will begin. fyokla, a little beggar-girl of six, is running through the village, looking for terenty the cobbler. the white-haired, barefoot child is pale. her eyes are wide-open, her lips are trembling. "uncle, where is terenty?" she asks every one she meets. no one answers. they are all preoccupied with the approaching storm and take refuge in their huts. at last she meets silanty silitch, the sacristan, terenty's bosom friend. he is coming along, staggering from the wind. "uncle, where is terenty?" "at the kitchen-gardens," answers silanty. the beggar-girl runs behind the huts to the kitchen-gardens and there finds terenty; the tall old man with a thin, pock-marked face, very long legs, and bare feet, dressed in a woman's tattered jacket, is standing near the vegetable plots, looking with drowsy, drunken eyes at the dark storm-cloud. on his long crane-like legs he sways in the wind like a starling-cote. "uncle terenty!" the white-headed beggar-girl addresses him. "uncle, darling!" terenty bends down to fyokla, and his grim, drunken face is overspread with a smile, such as come into people's faces when they look at something little, foolish, and absurd, but warmly loved. "ah! servant of god, fyokla," he says, lisping tenderly, "where have you come from?" "uncle terenty," says fyokla, with a sob, tugging at the lapel of the cobbler's coat. "brother danilka has had an accident! come along!" "what sort of accident? ough, what thunder! holy, holy, holy . what sort of accident?" "in the count's copse danilka stuck his hand into a hole in a tree, and he can't get it out. come along, uncle, do be kind and pull his hand out!" "how was it he put his hand in? what for?" "he wanted to get a cuckoo's egg out of the hole for me." "the day has hardly begun and already you are in trouble ."terenty shook his head and spat deliberately. "well, what am i to do with you now? i must come i must, may the wolf gobble you up, you naughty children! come, little orphan!" terenty comes out of the kitchen-garden and, lifting high his long legs, begins striding down the village street. he walks quickly without stopping or looking from side to side, as though he were shoved from behind or afraid of pursuit. fyokla can hardly keep up with him. they come out of the village and turn along the dusty road towards the count's copse that lies dark blue in the distance. it is about a mile and a half away. the clouds have by now covered the sun, and soon afterwards there is not a speck of blue left in the sky. it grows dark. "holy, holy, holy " whispers fyokla, hurrying after terenty. the first rain-drops, big and heavy, lie, dark dots on the dusty road. a big drop falls on fyokla's cheek and glides like a tear down her chin. "the rain has begun," mutters the cobbler, kicking up the dust with his bare, bony feet. "that's fine, fyokla, old girl. the grass and the trees are fed by the rain, as we are by bread. and as for the thunder, don't you be frightened, little orphan. why should it kill a little thing like you?" as soon as the rain begins, the wind drops. the only sound is the patter of rain dropping like fine shot on the young rye and the parched road. "we shall get soaked, fyokla," mutters terenty. "there won't be a dry spot left on us .ho-ho, my girl! it's run down my neck! but don't be frightened, silly .the grass will be dry again, the earth will be dry again, and we shall be dry again. there is the same sun for us all." a flash of lightning, some fourteen feet long, gleams above their head. there is a loud peal of thunder, and it seems to fyokla that something big, heavy, and round is rolling over the sky and tearing it open, exactly over her head. "holy, holy, holy " says terenty, crossing himself. "don't be afraid, little orphan! it is not from spite that it thunders." terenty's and fyokla's feet are covered with lumps of heavy, wet clay. it is slippery and difficult to walk, but terenty strides on more and more rapidly. the weak little beggar-girl is breathless and ready to drop. but at last they go into the count's copse. the washed trees, stirred by a gust of wind, drop a perfect waterfall upon them. terenty stumbles over stumps and begins to slacken his pace. "whereabouts is danilka?" he asks. "lead me to him." fyokla leads him into a thicket, and, after going a quarter of a mile, points to danilka. her brother, a little fellow of eight, with hair as red as ochre and a pale sickly face, stands leaning against a tree, and, with his head on one side, looking sideways at the sky. in one hand he holds his shabby old cap, the other is hidden in an old lime tree. the boy is gazing at the stormy sky, and apparently not thinking of his trouble. hearing footsteps and seeing the cobbler he gives sickly smile and says: "a terrible lot of thunder, terenty .i've never heard so much thunder in all my life." "and where is your hand?" "in the hole .pull it out, please, terenty!" the wood had broken at the edge of the hole and jammed danilka's hand: he could push it farther in, but could not pull it out. terenty snaps off the broken piece, and the boy's hand, red and crushed, is released. "it's terrible how it's thundering," the boy says again, rubbing his hand. "what makes it thunder, terenty?" "one cloud runs against the other," answers the cobbler. the party come out of the copse, and walk along the edge of it towards the darkened road. the thunder gradually abates, and its rumbling is heard far away beyond the village. "the ducks flew by here the other day, terenty," says danilka, still rubbing his hand. "they must be nesting in the gniliya zaimishtcha marshes .fyokla, would you like me to show you a nightingale's nest?" "don't touch it, you might disturb them," says terenty, wringing the water out of his cap. "the nightingale is a singing-bird, without sin. he has had a voice given him in his throat, to praise god and gladden the heart of man. it's a sin to disturb him." "what about the sparrow?" "the sparrow doesn't matter, he's a bad, spiteful bird. he is like a pickpocket in his ways. he doesn't like man to be happy. when christ was crucified it was the sparrow brought nails to the jews, and called 'alive! alive!' " a bright patch of blue appears in the sky. "look!" says terenty. "an ant-heap burst open by the rain! they've been flooded, the rogues!" they bend over the ant-heap. the downpour has damaged it; the insects are scurrying to and fro in the mud, agitated, and busily trying to carry away their drowned companions. "you needn't be in such a taking, you won't die of it!" says terenty, grinning. "as soon as the sun warms you, you'll come to your senses again .it's a lesson to you, you stupids. you won't settle on low ground another time." they go on. "and here are some bees," cries danilka, pointing to the branch of a young oak tree. the drenched and chilled bees are huddled together on the branch. there are so many of them that neither bark nor leaf can be seen. many of them are settled on one another. "that's a swarm of bees," terenty informs them. "they were flying looking for a home, and when the rain came down upon them they settled. if a swarm is flying, you need only sprinkle water on them to make them settle. now if, say, you wanted to take the swarm, you would bend the branch with them into a sack and shake it, and they all fall in." little fyokla suddenly frowns and rubs her neck vigorously. her brother looks at her neck, and sees a big swelling on it. "hey-hey!" laughs the cobbler. "do you know where you got that from, fyokla, old girl? there are spanish flies on some tree in the wood. the rain has trickled off them, and a drop has fallen on your neck—that's what has made the swelling." the sun appears from behind the clouds and floods the wood, the fields, and the three friends with its warm light. the dark menacing cloud has gone far away and taken the storm with it. the air is warm and fragrant. there is a scent of bird-cherry, meadowsweet, and lilies-of-the-valley. "that herb is given when your nose bleeds," says terenty, pointing to a woolly-looking flower. "it does good." they hear a whistle and a rumble, but not such a rumble as the storm-clouds carried away. a goods train races by before the eyes of terenty, danilka, and fyokla. the engine, panting and puffing out black smoke, drags more than twenty vans after it. its power is tremendous. the children are interested to know how an engine, not alive and without the help of horses, can move and drag such weights, and terenty undertakes to explain it to them: "it's all the steam's doing, children . the steam does the work . you see, it shoves under that thing near the wheels, and it you see it works " they cross the railway line, and, going down from the embankment, walk towards the river. they walk not with any object, but just at random, and talk all the way . danilka asks questions, terenty answers them terenty answers all his questions, and there is no secret in nature which baffles him. he knows everything. thus, for example, he knows the names of all the wild flowers, animals, and stones. he knows what herbs cure diseases, he has no difficulty in telling the age of a horse or a cow. looking at the sunset, at the moon, or the birds, he can tell what sort of weather it will be next day. and indeed, it is not only terenty who is so wise. silanty silitch, the innkeeper, the market-gardener, the shepherd, and all the villagers, generally speaking, know as much as he does. these people have learned not from books, but in the fields, in the wood, on the river bank. their teachers have been the birds themselves, when they sang to them, the sun when it left a glow of crimson behind it at setting, the very trees, and wild herbs. danilka looks at terenty and greedily drinks in every word. in spring, before one is weary of the warmth and the monotonous green of the fields, when everything is fresh and full of fragrance, who would not want to hear about the golden may-beetles, about the cranes, about the gurgling streams, and the corn mounting into ear? the two of them, the cobbler and the orphan, walk about the fields, talk unceasingly, and are not weary. they could wander about the world endlessly. they walk, and in their talk of the beauty of the earth do not notice the frail little beggar-girl tripping after them. she is breathless and moves with a lagging step. there are tears in her eyes; she would be glad to stop these inexhaustible wanderers, but to whom and where can she go? she has no home or people of her own; whether she likes it or not, she must walk and listen to their talk. towards midday, all three sit down on the river bank. danilka takes out of his bag a piece of bread, soaked and reduced to a mash, and they begin to eat. terenty says a prayer when he has eaten the bread, then stretches himself on the sandy bank and falls asleep. while he is asleep, the boy gazes at the water, pondering. he has many different things to think of. he has just seen the storm, the bees, the ants, the train. now, before his eyes, fishes are whisking about. some are two inches long and more, others are no bigger than one's nail. a viper, with its head held high, is swimming from one bank to the other. only towards the evening our wanderers return to the village. the children go for the night to a deserted barn, where the corn of the commune used to be kept, while terenty, leaving them, goes to the tavern. the children lie huddled together on the straw, dozing. the boy does not sleep. he gazes into the darkness, and it seems to him that he is seeing all that he has seen in the day: the storm-clouds, the bright sunshine, the birds, the fish, lanky terenty. the number of his impressions, together with exhaustion and hunger, are too much for him; he is as hot as though he were on fire, and tosses from side to side. he longs to tell someone all that is haunting him now in the darkness and agitating his soul, but there is no one to tell. fyokla is too little and could not understand. "i'll tell terenty to-morrow," thinks the boy. the children fall asleep thinking of the homeless cobbler, and, in the night, terenty comes to them, makes the sign of the cross over them, and puts bread under their heads. and no one sees his love. it is seen only by the moon which floats in the sky and peeps caressingly through the holes in the wall of the deserted barn.