It's a sin to hatch eggs with machines. They want to kill you."

Alexander Semyonovich shuddered and turned to his wife. His face had gone yellow.

"Well, how about that? Ignorant lot! What can you do with people like that? Eh? We'll have to fix up a meeting for them, Manya. I'll phone the district centre tomorrow for some Party workers. And I'll give 'em a speech myself. This place needs a bit of working over alright. Stuck away at the back of beyond..."

"Thick as posts," muttered the guard, who had settled down on his greatcoat in the conservatory doorway.

The next day was heralded by some strange and inexplicable events. In the early morning, at the first glint of sunlight, the groves, which usually greeted the heavenly body with a strong and unceasing twitter of birds, met it with total silence. This was noticed by absolutely everybody. It was like the calm before a storm. But no storm followed. Conversations at the state farm took on a strange and sinister note for Alexander Semyonovich, especially because according to the well-known Kontsovka trouble-maker and sage nicknamed Goat Gob, all the birds had gathered in flocks and flown away northwards from Sheremetevo at dawn, which was quite ridiculous. Alexander Semyonovich was most upset and spent the whole day putting a phone call through to the town of Grachevka. Eventually they promised to send him in a few days' time two speakers on two subjects, the international situation and the question of Volunteer-Fowl.

The evening brought some more surprises. Whereas in the morning the woods had fallen silent, showing clearly how suspiciously unpleasant it was when the trees were quiet, and whereas by midday the sparrows from the state farmyard had also flown off somewhere, that evening there was not a sound from the Sheremetevka pond either. This was quite extraordinary, because everyone for twenty miles around was familiar with the croaking of the Sheremetev frogs. But now they seemed to be extinct. There was not a single voice from the pond, and the sedge was silent. It must be confessed that this really upset Alexander Semyonovich. People had begun to talk about these happenings in a most unpleasant fashion, i.e., behind his back.

"It really is strange," said Alexander Semyonovich to his wife at lunch. "I can't understand why those birds had to go and fly away."

"How should I know?" Manya replied. "Perhaps it's because of your ray."

"Don't be so silly, Manya!" exclaimed Alexander Semyonovich, flinging down his spoon. "You're as bad as the peasants. What's the ray got to do with it?" "I don't know. Stop pestering me." That evening brought the third surprise. The dogs began howling again in Kontsovka and how! Their endless whines and angry, mournful yelping wafted over the moonlit fields.

Alexander Semyonovich rewarded himself somewhat with yet another surprise, a pleasant one this time, in the conservatory. A constant tapping had begun inside the red eggs in the chambers. "Tappity-tappity-tappity,"

came from one, then another, then a third.

The tapping in the eggs was a triumph for Alexander Semyonovich. The strange events in the woods and on the pond were immediately forgotten.

Everyone gathered in the conservatory, Manya, Dunya, the watchman and the guard, who left his rifle by the door.

"Well, then? What about that?" asked Alexander Semyonovich triumphantly. Everyone put their ears eagerly to the doors of the first chamber. "That's them tapping with their little beaks, the chickens,"

Alexander Semyonovich went on, beaming. "So you thought I wouldn't hatch out any chicks, did you? Well, you were wrong, my hearties." From an excess of emotion he slapped the guard on the shoulder. "I'll hatch chickens that'll take your breath away. Only now I must keep alert," he added strictly. "Let me know as soon as they start hatching."

"Right you are," replied the watchman, Dunya and the guard in a chorus.

"Tappity-tappity-tappity," went one egg, then another, in the first chamber. In fact this on-the-spot spectacle of new life being born in a thin shining shell was so intriguing that they all sat for a long time on the upturned empty crates, watching the crimson eggs mature in the mysterious glimmering light. By the time they went to bed it was quite late and a greenish night had spread over the farm and the surrounding countryside. The night was mysterious, one might even say frightening, probably because its total silence was broken now and then by the abject, excruciating howls of the dogs in Kontsovka.