"The son of the old milkwoman who lives at No. 25 has been called up into the cavalry," a boy in the corner reported.
"Some piece of news!" Timur shook his head reproachfully. "We've had our sign on the gate for two days now.
Who put it there—you, Kolokolchikov?"
"Yes."
"Then why is the upper left point of the star all wavy like a leech?
If you take on a job, do it properly.
People'll laugh when they see it.
Next?"
Sima Simakov jumped up and rattled off his report.
"A goat's been lost at No. 54, Pushkaryov Road.
I was walking along when I saw an old woman beating a girl.
I yelled out, 'Missis, beating's against the law!' She says, 'She's lost the goat, blast her hide!' 'Where was it lost?' 'Over there, in the gully back of the woods. Chewed through her rope and made off, you'd think the wolves'd clean swallowed it.' "
"Wait a minute!
Whose house?"
"Paul Guryev's—he's in the Army.
The girl's his daughter. Her name is Annie.
It was her grandma who was beating her.
Don't know her name.
The goat's grey, with a black back.
They call it Manka."
"Find that goat!" ordered Timur. "Take a squad of four—you, and you, and you.
Well, fellows, is that all?"
"There's a girl always crying at No. 22," Geika submitted reluctantly.
"Why does she cry?"
"I've tried asking her but she won't say."
"You ought to have asked her better.
Perhaps someone beats her—or treats her badly."
"I asked her, but she wouldn't say."
"A big girl?"
"She's four."
"There's a real tragedy for you!
If she'd been a person ... but—four years old!
Just a moment though— whose house is that?"
"Lieutenant Pavlov's.
The one who was killed at the frontier not long ago."
" 'I've tried asking her but she won't say,' " Timur mocked, obviously disappointed in Geika.
He frowned and thought a while. "All right.
Leave that one to me."
"Kvakin's in sight!" cried the lookout.
"He's walking down the other side of the street, eating an apple.
Timur, let's send out a squad to give him the bumps!"
"No.
Remain where you are.
I'll be back soon."
He climbed down the ladder and disappeared into the bushes.
Now the lookout continued his running commentary:
"A good-looking girl just came into my field of vision. Name unknown. Standing at the gate with a jug and buying milk.
She must be from the house."
"Is it your sister?" asked Nick, tugging at Jenny's sleeve.
Receiving no answer, he warned her with an important and rather offended air: "Better not try calling to her from here."