Vassili took off his cloak and wrung the water from it. Woloda flung
back the apron, and I stood up in the britchka to drink in the new,
fresh, balm-laden air. In front of us was the carriage, rolling along
and looking as wet and resplendent in the sunlight as though it had just
been polished. On one side of the road boundless oatfields, intersected
in places by small ravines which now showed bright with their moist
earth and greenery, stretched to the far horizon like a checkered
carpet, while on the other side of us an aspen wood, intermingled with
hazel bushes, and parquetted with wild thyme in joyous profusion, no
longer rustled and trembled, but slowly dropped rich, sparkling diamonds
from its newly-bathed branches on to the withered leaves of last year.

From above us, from every side, came the happy songs of little birds
calling to one another among the dripping brushwood, while clear from
the inmost depths of the wood sounded the voice of the cuckoo. So
delicious was the wondrous scent of the wood, the scent which follows
a thunderstorm in spring, the scent of birch-trees, violets, mushrooms,
and thyme, that I could no longer remain in the britchka. Jumping out,
I ran to some bushes, and, regardless of the showers of drops discharged
upon me, tore off a few sprigs of thyme, and buried my face in them to
smell their glorious scent.

Then, despite the mud which had got into my boots, as also the fact that
my stockings were soaked, I went skipping through the puddles to the
window of the carriage.

"Lubotshka! Katenka!" I shouted as I handed them some of the thyme,
"Just look how delicious this is!"