"What are you knocking for?" the neighbour asked in a sleepy voice. "What are you up to now?"
"Please, I'm not up to anything," Jenny pleaded. "I must see Aunt Masha, the milkwoman.
I have to leave a baby with her."
"Rubbish!" exclaimed the neighbour, shutting her window with a bang. "The old woman left this morning to visit her brother in the village."
A train pulling into the station blew its whistle.
Jenny ran back into the road and bumped into the elderly gentleman, the doctor.
"Sorry!" she gasped. "Can you tell me what train that is?"
The old gentleman produced his watch.
"The eleven fifty-five," he replied. "The last train to Moscow."
"How do you mean, the last?" whispered Jenny, a lump rising in her throat. "When does the next one leave?"
"The next one leaves in the morning, at three forty.
What's the matter with you, child?" he inquired solicitously, catching the reeling girl by the shoulder. "You're crying?
Can I help you in any way?"
"No, no, you can't!" said Jenny, choking back her tears and rushing away. "Nobody in the world can help me now!"
At home she flung herself down on her bed, but the next moment she sprang up and glared at the sleeping child.
Then, pulling herself together, she straightened the little girl's blanket and whisked the tawny kitten off the pillow.
She switched on the lights on the porch, in the kitchen and in the living-room, sat down on the sofa and began to rock her head.
She sat that way for a long time, thinking about nothing in particular.
She accidentally touched the accordion which was lying by her side.
Lifting it up mechanically, she began to finger the keys.
A sad, solemn melody filled the room.
Jenny abruptly laid the accordion aside and went over to the window.
Her shoulders were shaking.
No!
She could not stay there alone and bear such torture a minute longer.
She lit a candle and stumbled through the garden toward the barn.
There was the loft, with its ropes, map, sacks and flags.
She lit the lantern, went over to the wheel, found the right rope, hooked it on, and then jerked the wheel.
Timur was fast asleep when Rita touched his shoulder with her paw.
He did not feel the gentle push.
Rita then fastened her teeth into the blanket and dragged it off him onto the floor.
Timur sat up.
"What's the matter?" he asked, perplexed. "Anything wrong?"
The dog gazed into his eyes, wagged her tail and tossed her head.
At that moment Timur heard the little bronze bell tinkling.
He went out onto the porch and picked up the receiver, wondering who could want him at that time of night.
"Hello, Timur listening.
Who is it?
You? Is that you, Jenny?"
At first Timur listened calmly.
Then his lips began to twitch and the blood rushed to his face.
He was breathing hard.
"And only for three hours?" he asked agitatedly. "Jenny, you're not crying, are you?
I can hear you— you are crying.
You mustn't!
Don't!
I'll come right away!"
He hung up and snatched a timetable from the shelf.
"Yes, there it is, the last one's at 23:55.
The next one leaves at 3:40." He stood there biting his lips. "Too late!