VankaZhukov,a boy of nine, given away three months ago,apprenticed toa shoemakerAlyahinu, on the night before Christmasdid not go tosleep.Having waited untilthe ownersand apprenticeswentto matins, he took out ofthe master'scupboarda bottle ofink,a pen witha rustypen and, in front of hima crumpledpiece of paper,he began to write. Before youtakethe first letter, several times he lookedanxiouslyat the door andthe window,lookedat thedark imageon both sides ofwhich stretchedshelves ofshoes,andshaky breath. Paperlay onthe bench, and he stood beforethe benchin his lap.