All he could see from his perch was the end of a bed standing by the window and a pair of blanket-covered legs.
He threw a piece of bark onto the bed and called softly:
"Nick, get up!
Nick!"
The sleeper did not stir.
Then Timur pulled out his pocket-knife, sliced off a long, thin switch, sharpened the end and cast it into the window. He hooked the blanket and tugged.
The light blanket slipped out over the windowsill.
A hoarse shout issued from the room.
His sleepy eyes almost starting out of his head, a grey-haired gentleman clad only in his pyjamas leapt from the bed and, grabbing the retreating blanket, rushed up to the window.
Finding himself suddenly face to face with this venerable old man, Timur dropped to the ground.
The old gentleman, however, flung the recaptured blanket onto his bed, snatched his double-barrelled gun off the wall, hastily put on his spectacles, poked the gun through the window and, pointing the muzzle skyward, closed his eyes and fired.
Timur was so frightened that he did not stop running until he reached the well.
There had been a misunderstanding.
He had taken the sleeper for Nick, and the old gentleman had, naturally, taken him for a burglar.
Just then Timur saw the milkwoman going through the gate with her water buckets.
He dived behind a clump of acacias and settled down to observe what would happen next.
When she returned from the well, the old woman lifted a bucket and poured the water into the barrel. The next moment she sprang aside, because the water splashed back at her out of the already brimming barrel.
Gasping and peering round in bewilderment, the old woman inspected the barrel from all sides.
She plunged her hand into the water and sniffed it.
Then she hurried over to the porch to see if the lock on her door was in order.
Then, finally, not knowing what to think, she tapped at her neighbour's window.
Timur laughed and came out of his hiding place.
He had to hurry.
The sun was already rising.
Nick had failed to turn up and the lines still had to be repaired.
As he made his way through the garden to the shed, Timur glanced into an open window which gave onto the garden.
Jenny, dressed in shorts and a polo shirt, was writing at a table near her bed. She kept tossing back her hair impatiently from her face.
When Jenny saw Timur, she made no sign of alarm or surprise.
She only motioned to him not to wake Olga. Then she put her unfinished letter into a drawer and tiptoed out of the room.
When Jenny heard about Timur's morning misadventure, she forgot all Olga's instructions and gladly volunteered to help him repair the lines which she herself had broken.
After they had finished the job and Timur was leaving, Jenny said:
"I don't know why, but my sister absolutely hates you."
"There you are," said Timur with chagrin. "And my uncle feels the same way about you!"
He was about to go but she stopped him.
"Wait a minute. You ought to comb your hair—you look frightfully shaggy this morning."
She got out her comb and was just handing it to him when Olga called out indignantly from the window.
"Jenny!
What are you doing?"
A moment later the two sisters stood facing each other on the porch.
"I don't choose your friends for you," Jenny defended herself desperately. "What friends?
Quite ordinary friends.
In white suits.
'Oh, how wonderfully your sister plays!'
Wonderfully!
He ought to hear how wonderfully you scold!
See this?
I'm writing all about everything to Dad!"
"Jenny!
That boy is a hoodlum and you're a little fool," said Olga coldly, trying to keep her temper. "Write to Dad if you like, but if I ever see you in that boy's company again we're leaving here and going back to Moscow at once.
And you know I keep my word, don't you? "