Report on the work of a fairy-tale hero. A fairy tale about how laziness won. Questions to the fairy tale "How the work of a person changes"
They talk about the importance of choosing a worthy and necessary business in life, studying and working honestly and conscientiously.
Golden nail. Author: Evgeny Permyak
Without a father, Tisha grew up in poverty. No stake, no yard, no chicken. Only a wedge of paternal land remained. Tisha and her mother walked around the people. Toiled. And from nowhere they had no hope for any happiness. The mother and son completely dropped their hands:
- What to do? How to be? Where do you lay your head?
“He,” he says, “can do anything. Even happiness forges.
When the mother heard this, she rushed to the blacksmith:
- Zakhar, they say you can forge happiness for my ill-fated son.
And the blacksmith to her:
- What are you, a widow! Man is the blacksmith of his own happiness. Send your son to the forge. Maybe bored.
Tisha came to the forge. The blacksmith talked to him and said:
- Your happiness, boy, is in a golden nail. You forge a golden nail, and it will bring you happiness. You just help him.
- Uncle Zakhar, but I never forged!
“And I,” says the blacksmith, “was not born a blacksmith. Blow up the horn.
The blacksmith began to show how to inflate the forge, how to swing furs, how to add coals, how to soften iron with fire, how to take a forging with tongs. Things didn't work out right away for Tikhon. My hands hurt and my legs hurt. The back does not unbend in the evening. And he fell in love with the blacksmith for his father. Yes, and Tisha hit the blacksmith on the arm. The blacksmith had no son, only a daughter. Yes, and that such a loafer - it is better not to remember. How can she be a needlewoman without a mother? Well, it's not about her yet.
The time has come, Tisha has become a hammerer.
Once a blacksmith took an old king pin and said:
“Now let’s forge a happy golden nail out of it.”
Tisha forged this nail for a week, another, and every day the nail became more beautiful. On the third week the blacksmith says:
- Do not reforge, Tikhon! Happiness loves measure.
Tisha did not understand why the blacksmith was saying such words. He was not up to them. He liked the nail very much. Doesn't take his eyes off him. One thing is bitter - the golden nail died out. Cooled down. Darkened.
“Don’t worry, Tisha, it will turn golden,” says the blacksmith.
- And when will it turn gold, uncle Zakhar?
“Then it will turn golden when you give him everything he asks for.”
“He doesn’t ask for anything, uncle blacksmith.
- And you, Tisha, think about it. Is the nail forged to lie around idle?
- Yes, uncle Zakhar. Need to drive a nail somewhere. Just what, uncle Zakhar, to drive him into? We have no stake, no yard, no gate, no tyna.
The blacksmith thought and thought, rubbed his forehead and said:
- And you drive him into a pole.
- Where can I get a pole?
- Cut it down in the forest and dig it into the ground.
“But I haven’t hacked in my life, and I don’t have an ax.
- So after all, you didn’t forge after all, but what a nail you forged. And you forge an ax. And cut down the tree.
The bellows snorted and breathed again, sparks flew. Not immediately, not on a whim, but three days later the guy forged an ax - and into the forest. Tisha took a fancy to a pine tree and, well, chop it. Before the poor fellow had even crossed the bark, the forester grabbed him:
- Why are you, thief-robber, cutting down the forest?
Tisha answered this in an amicable way, who he was, and where he came from, and why he needed a pine pole.
The forester sees that before him is not a thief, not a robber, but a widow's son, a blacksmith Zakhar's student.
- That's what, - he says, - if the blacksmith taught you how to forge a golden nail, and I will help you. Go to the forest, cut down a plot, you will get a post for your work.
There is nothing to do, Tisha went into the forest. One day he chopped, he chopped two, on the third day he cut down the plot. He received the pillar, he took it down to his father's land. And the earth is overgrown with weeds, wormwood, burdock. There was someone to work on it. Tisha dragged a pillar, but there is nothing to dig it in.
“But why should you grieve about the shovel!” his mother tells him. - You forged a nail, forged an ax - can't you bend a shovel?
A day has not passed, Tisha made a shovel. He dug a pillar deep, and began to drive in a happy nail. It's not much work to drive a nail. When you have your own ax, and the ax has such a butt that you can dance on it. Tisha drove in a nail and is waiting for it to turn gold. It waits for a day, it waits for two, and the nail not only does not turn gold, but begins to turn brown.
- Mommy, look, his rust is eating. It looks like he's asking for something else. I need to run to the blacksmith.
He ran to the blacksmith, told everything as it is, and he says to this:
- A nail cannot be driven in without work. Every nail must carry its service.
- And what, uncle Zakhar?
“Go to the people and see how nails serve them.
Tisha went through the village. He sees that with some nails they sew on the clew, with others, the thinnest, they grab the shrapnel on the roofs, on the third, on the largest, harness, they hang collars.
- Not otherwise, mommy, we need to hang a collar on our nail. Otherwise the rust will eat all my happiness.
Tisha said so and went to the saddler.
- Saddler, how to earn a collar?
- It's a tricky business. Work for me until haymaking, and from haymaking to snow. Here you will have a collar and a harness.
“All right,” says Tikhon and stayed with the saddler.
And the saddler was also from a blacksmith breed. He didn’t bother Tisha, but he didn’t let him sit idle either. Now he orders to cut the clamps, then chop the firewood, then plow the tithe. Not everything worked right away. It used to be difficult, but it was scary to step back from the clamp. A nail cannot be driven in idle. The time has come - the reckoning has come. Tikhon received the best collar and a full harness. He brought it all and hung it on a nail:
- Golden, my nail! Did everything for you.
And the nail, as if alive, frowned from under the hat, is silent and does not turn gold.
Tisha again to the blacksmith, and the blacksmith again his:
- A good yoke with a harness cannot hang on a nail in vain. There is a clamp for something.
- And for what?
- Try with people.
Tish did not torture people anymore, he thought. I thought hard about the horse. Thought and thought and thought.
Now he could chop, he also knew how to harness, well, let alone blacksmithing. “I’m not afraid of a golden nail,” Tikhon decided to himself, “I’m not afraid to stand with helpers.”
I said goodbye to my mother and went to earn a horse.
A year has not passed - Tikhon galloped on his horse to his native village.
The people do not fall in love:
- Oh, what a horse! And where does he get such happiness from?
And Tisha doesn’t look at anyone very much, turns to the post.
- Well, a nail, now you have a collar, a collar has a horse. Golden!
And the nail, as it was, is. Here Tikhon, although he was quiet, pounced on a nail:
“What are you, your rusty hat, mocking me!”
And at that time, a blacksmith happened at the pillar:
- Well, what can a dumb nail say to you, Tikhon? It doesn’t turn gold - it means that it asks for something else.
- And what?
- Is it conceivable that a post, a nail, a collar and a horse get wet in the rain!
Tisha began to cover the pillar with a roof. Covered, but the nail does not turn gold. “It can be seen that one roof is not enough for him,” Tisha decided to himself and began to cut down the walls. Now he could do anything.
How long, how short did Tisha cut the walls, but the nail was as it was, as it is.
- Will you ever gild? Tikhon shouted in his hearts.
- I'll gild. I'll definitely gild.
Tikhon's eyes widened. Until now, the nail was silent, but now it spoke! It can be seen that, in fact, he forged a nail that was not simple. And the fact that the blacksmith was lying on the roof at that time, Tikhon is unaware. He was still young, he had not yet learned how to crack fairy tales, like nuts, and choose the kernels from them. Swallowed with a shell.
“What else do you need, nail?”
To this, instead of a nail, Hush’s horse neighed the answer:
— Eee-hee-hee... How can I live without a plow!.. Eeee...
- Yes, you, Bulanko, do not laugh so plaintively. If I have already earned you, so it will be. I myself will plowshares and furrows.
He forged, hewed, adjusted the crossbars, but he does not go to look at the nail. Not before somehow it became. Another entered my head.
If a collar asked for a nail, a collar for a horse, a horse for a plow, one must think that the plow will ask for arable land.
Tikhon harnessed his horse to the plow. The horse neighs, the plow cuts the layer, the plowman sings songs.
The people poured out into the field, looking at Tisha. Mothers of girls-brides push themselves forward. Perhaps, which one will appeal. And Kuznetsov's daughter is right there, on arable land. So it follows him like a jackdaw in a furrow. Uncombed, unwashed.
- Quiet, marry me! I will help you.
Tikhon even shied away from these words. Sokha swerved to the side. The horse began to look around not in a good way, Kuznetsov's monster is frightened.
Are you out of your mind, scarecrow? Tikhon tells her. - Who needs you like that! Is it in the garden - to scare the raven. So I don't even have a garden.
.jpg)
And she:
“I’ll plant a garden for you, and then I’ll become a scarecrow myself, just to see you, Tishenka ...
Such words seemed absurd to him, and they fell to his heart: “Look, how you love! He agrees to be a scarecrow, just to see me.
He did not answer the blacksmith's daughter - he went to the blacksmith.
And the blacksmith has been waiting for him for a long time:
- Tikhon, what I want to tell you: envious people want to pull out your lucky nail and drive it into their wall.
- How is it, uncle Zakhar? What to do now? Not otherwise that it is necessary to guard.
“So, dear son, so,” the blacksmith assented. - Only how to guard? Rain in autumn. Snow in winter. The hut must be set up.
And Tikhon to him:
“I just thought, and you already said. I'm going to cut a hut. I have an ax, I have more than enough strength. I'm not afraid of anything.
The people poured out again. Again brides in a herd. And he cuts - only the earth trembles and the sun laughs. And the bright month had something to look at, to rejoice at. Tikhon took the nights too.
Autumn came. The widow squeezed the bread, Tikhon threshed it, and the horse brought it to the market. They brought all kinds of utensils to the new house. And the nail does not turn gold. And my heart is sad.
“And why, why, dear son, is your heart sad?”
“I’m the only one, mommy, I jumped out ahead of the others. Druzhkov got ahead, left his comrades behind. He drove a nail into himself, hid happiness from them.
- What are you, Tisha? Everyone is a blacksmith to his own happiness. So Zakhar taught you?
“So it is,” the son replied. “Only Uncle Zakhar used to say that death is red in the world, and happiness grows moldy alone. Everyone helped me: the blacksmith, the saddler, and the forester. And who am I?
So Tikhon said and went to his friends and comrades. To whom he will say the right word, to whom he will give good advice, and to whom he will help with his own hands. He covered the widow's roof. The old man did the sled. Lazy admonished. Yuntsov put to work.
Gold nail! I started from the hat - reached the middle. Happiness has looked into the new house with fun, human friendship has blossomed. The people will not praise Tikhon. It came to that - he, an unmarried man, began to be called after the priest, to call out to the world. And the nail burns more every day.
“Now,” says the blacksmith, “just get married—you won’t make a mistake.” There will be light in the hut without fire.
- And what kind of daughter would you recommend to him so that there would be no mistake?
- And who is equal?
“My Dunka,” says the blacksmith.
“Oh, you filthy swindler! the widow got up. - Is this kikimora his equal? Unwashed, unkempt, unaccustomed to business? Is she his equal? To him, poppy flower, golden hands, heroic shoulders, poured body? Yes, is that the case? Have you heard of an eagle marrying a jackdaw?
- And who, widow, made him an eagle?
- Like who? Nail!
- And who helped him to forge a nail? .. Who? .jpg)
Then the widow remembered everything, and her conscience spoke. Conscience speaks, and maternal love gives its voice. It's a pity for her to marry such a clumsy son.
Pity in the left ear whispers to the widow: "Do not ruin your son, do not ruin." And the conscience in its right ear repeats: “Without the mother of Kuznetsov, the daughter grew up, she grew up as a slovenly sloven. He took pity on your son, how can you not take a liking to his daughter!
“Here you are, blacksmith,” says the widow. - With the first snow, Tisha will take his friends-comrades to work, to whom he hammered not two, not three dozen golden nails. Then let your Dunya come to me. Yes, tell her not to contradict me in anything.
The first snow fell. Tikhon took his friends and comrades to work - to gild nails. Dunka appeared to the widow.
“I heard, Dunyasha, that you want to please my son.
- So hunting, aunty, so hunting! - the dark-skinned Dunya bursts into tears and smears dirt over her face. - I would turn myself inside out, if only he would not drive me out of sight.
- Well, if so, we will try. After all, Dunyushka, like your father, I conjure when I have to.
The widow said this and gave Duna a spindle:
“It’s unsightly, Dunya, but it hides great power in itself. My grandfather somehow caught a Baba Yaga in the forest, he wanted to decide. And she paid off him with this little spindle. Strong spindle.
“And what is his strength, aunty?” Dunya asks and squints at the spindle.
The widow responds to this:
- If you spin a thin and long thread with this spindle, then you can tie anyone you want with this thread to yourself.
Here Dunya cheered up - and grab the spindle:
- Come on, aunty, I'll spin.
- What you! Is it really possible to start yarn with such unwashed hands and with such uncombed hair? Run home, wash yourself, get dressed, evaporate in the bathhouse, and then you will spin.
Dunya ran home, washed, dressed, evaporated - and a beauty came to the widow.
The fact that study is the same kind of work that not only people work, but animals.
Children in the grove.
They must have been passing by a beautiful shady grove. It was hot and dusty on the road, but cool and cheerful in the grove.
— Do you know what? brother said to sister. “We still have time to go to school. The school is stuffy and boring now, but it must be a lot of fun in the grove. Listen to the birds chirping there! And the squirrel, how many squirrels jump on the branches! Shall we go there, sister?
The sister liked the brother's proposal. The children threw the alphabets into the grass, joined hands and hid among the green bushes, under the curly birch trees.
In the grove, for sure, it was fun and noisy. The birds fluttered incessantly, singing and shouting; squirrels jumped on the branches; insects scurried about in the grass.
First of all, the children saw the golden bug.
“Play with us,” the children said to the beetle.
“I would love to,” replied the beetle, “but I don’t have time: I have to get myself dinner.”
“Play with us,” the children said to the yellow furry bee.
- I have no time to play with you, - the bee answered, - I need to collect honey.
- Will you play with us? the children asked the ant.
But the ant had no time to listen to them: he dragged a straw three times his size and hurried to build his cunning dwelling.
The children turned to the squirrel, suggesting that she also play with them; but the squirrel waved its bushy tail and replied that it must stock up on nuts for the winter.
Dove said:
I am building a nest for my little children.
A gray bunny ran to the stream to wash its muzzle. The white strawberry flower also had no time to take care of children. He took advantage of the fine weather and hurried to prepare his juicy, tasty berry by the deadline.
The children got bored because everyone was busy with their own business and no one wanted to play with them. They ran to the stream. Murmuring on the stones, the stream ran through the grove.
“You really don’t have anything to do, do you?” the children told him. - Come play with us!
- How! I have nothing to do? the stream murmured angrily. Oh, you lazy kids! Look at me: I work day and night and do not know a moment of rest. Am I not singing people and animals? Who, besides me, washes clothes, turns mill wheels, carries boats and puts out fires? Oh, I have so much work that my head is spinning! added the brook, and began to murmur over the stones.
The children became even more bored, and they thought that it would be better for them to go to school first, and then, on their way from school, go into the grove. But at that very time the boy noticed a tiny beautiful robin on a green branch. She seemed to be sitting very calmly, whistling a merry song out of nothing to do.
- Hey, you merry sing-along! the boy shouted to the robin. “You seem to have absolutely nothing to do; play with us.
- How, - the offended robin whistled, - I have nothing to do? Haven't I been catching midges all day to feed my little ones? I'm so tired I can't lift my wings; and now I lull my dear children with a song. What did you do today, little sloths? They didn’t go to school, they didn’t learn anything, they run around the grove, and even interfere with other people’s work. Better go where you were sent, and remember that it is only pleasant for him to rest and play, who has worked and done everything that he had to do.
The children felt ashamed: they went to school and although they came late, they studied diligently.
Pashkin treasure. Author: Anton Paraskevin
It was a long time ago, when a centuries-old forest stood on the site of our village. At that time the carpenter Avdey lived on a farm near the lake. They called him the great master in the district. He was a first hand carpenter. His whole life was measured by craft. How many golden pine logs he hewed, nursed, adjusted with an ax and put into a log house. If they were measured, it would be enough for many miles. And they called him great because he put his love into every tile, corner and resinous groove. The house came out bright, bright, and its troubles, misfortunes and dashing ruins bypassed it.
Avdey was a carpenter for a whole volost for all carpenters. He was no longer young - seventy had passed, however, both the eye and the hand kept the accuracy, as in his younger years. The master did not like idleness and idle talk, only one evil comes from them, but he could talk with an ax endlessly, read him all his life to every minute. An ax, he will understand everything, endure, forgive and show beauty to surprise. The villagers of Avdey often asked: where did he get such skill and wisdom. And he always answered: “The Lord is my helper, from Him I have everything: strength, understanding, patience and beauty. Any business without God is a futile work, an oversight, and it will not bring any benefit to anyone. The master regularly went to church, kept fasts, honored holy days and consecrated his carpentry tool in the temple every year.
Once a volost foreman calls him to him and says: “We decided to build a church in a neighboring village, without a holy church our people become idle, prone to all kinds of indecency. The treasury gave us five hundred rubles for this holy cause. Good craftsmen are needed to erect a temple to glory. Many carpenters have already volunteered to create God's building, but only you can't do it without you. Will you go to the artel for the elder? Well, Avdey agreed. And the volost foreman advises: “Choose a plot in the state-owned forest and start felling the forest ahead of time, otherwise autumn is just around the corner, the roads will quickly turn sour.”
The master went to look for a plot and went out to the lake itself, and above it the pines of the ship rustled, sonorous, the bark on them with a golden hue, and not far away - a red spruce forest, a trunk in girth. He admired the timber, looked, and near the lake a gang of guys had fun. Sings, walks and dances. And they are led by Pashka, nicknamed Bell - a well-known reveler and joker in the district. His parents died, leaving him a farm with a household, so he let all the good stuff go to the tavern. Wherever you go, everywhere you hear about his revelry, that's why they called the guy the Bell. Avdey felt sorry for him, such a fine fellow disappears - tall, stately, handsome in face, and his hands are like hooks, for whatever he takes, all of them fall. Like a root-eversion in the forest - thick, powerful, but no one needs. Pashka walks in a satin shirt, plays the balalaika, sings ditties, and all his friends dance. Avdey thought. He thought, thought, tensed his mind and decided on an opportunity: "But a good artel worker can turn out from a guy, just God give me patience."
He approached the gang, Pashka called out:
- Well, brother, are we walking?
“Let’s take a walk, grandfather Avdey,” Pashka laughed and hit the strings even louder. And his friends are laughing, on the pavement they are knocking out shots with their boots.
Avdey grab the balalaika:
"Wait," he says, "there's something to be done."
What else is there to do on a holiday like this? Pasha laughs.
Avdey took him aside:
“The case,” he says, “is a lady's business. You, I see, are a hunter to a slaughter, so the lafa itself climbs into your hands.
- What kind of lafa? Pashka hardened his face.
And the master to him:
I have a big secret. My father, leaving for the war, hid the golden treasure in a pine hollow in this allotment. He did not return from the war, and that treasure remained in a living cache. Since then, many years have passed, the hollow is overgrown, but the treasure is untouched. If we dump this plot, we will definitely find it. Then take half. With that kind of money, you can walk until old age.
“Oh, you are a cunning old man,” Pashka sighed. - Isn't there a catch here? Every Fedot oppresses in his own way. You lived your life, didn’t grieve for the treasure, and now come to me with a secret?
- Yes, I forgot this pine tree, Pashka, I completely forgot, I thought it was in that one, but I didn’t find a hollow there, I thought it was in this one, and again I was mistaken. Before, I didn’t need a treasure when I was young and healthy, but now it’s just right for me. I kept it for a rainy day. I can't climb all the pine trees at my age. And you, Pashka, if you don’t want to cut down the forest, then I’ll find myself another helper. No worse than you. And you go, take a walk, today you had a pie as a guest, and tomorrow you will sip carrots. Money is not snow, but melts in a thin pocket.
Pashka thought and agreed.
- When do we start cutting? he asks.
- Yes, we’ll start in a few days, the deposit is not going well.
- And where will the fall go, grandfather Avdey, state-owned forest?
- And we will cut down the church from the dump in Zaozerye. Avdey grinned and pointed with his hand to a high hillock behind the pool.
And when the grain harvest subsided, the carpenter began to gather craftsmen. Gathered twelve people. All craftsmen are top-notch, craftsmen in their field. Avdey walks through the forest, looks at and listens to each pine tree, as if he were not in the plot, but at the bride's bride: each tree evaluates and remembers. One part of the artel workers fells the forest, and the other puts it on wheels and carries it to Zaozerye, in a word, his helpers are famous for it.
Master Pashka says:
- You, boy, do not rush, first you need to hew the logs, and then I will quickly find the treasure, not a single rotten tree will hide from me, and not just a hollow. Therefore, prepare, brother, the steelyard - to divide the gold.
And he himself taps on the trunks and counts the flight rings on the stumps.
The place for the church was chosen high, beautiful and bright, above the lakeside. And what a review around, as much as the soul rejoices. So the stream next to it runs to the reach, and every step, then a hollow with a chimney, they ring, like centuries-old harps, with a life-giving, unique melody. Avdey began to show Pashka how to hew logs. The sleeves are rolled up, the ax is raised neatly, easily, cheerfully, and the blows are placed prudently and tightly. Yellow shavings curl under the ax. “Here so lovingly and drive the cut, as if shearing a golden lamb, but a little to the side, so you hurt him, did you understand?” Pashka nods his head, obeys, but he himself asks everything about the treasure, not to put that log with the treasure in a log house. “You,” says grandfather Avdey, “tap out every arshin, but don’t make a mistake, otherwise all the work will go down the drain, because gold is not in a hurry to pray.”
Time passed. The temple grew before our eyes as a large, beautiful, sonorous frame, it was impossible to look away. But there was no treasure. “Don’t rush,” the master reassured the young man, “they just laid fifty logs, he won’t get away from us anywhere.” And Pashka had already begun to get used to carpentry work and to learn its marvelous secrets, not open to everyone. It seems the same forest, and each pine has its own character. One chip is soft, like a tow, and the other is completely different, and the ax sounds differently. And he hewed lovingly, carefully, as Avdey taught, as if shearing a golden lamb. And he asked about the treasure less often, and more and more about the carpenter's secrets. The ax in the hands of the young man became light and obedient, like a merry-shovel in the hands of the hostess, with which she kneads the dough.
Autumn has come unnoticed. She curtained the summer with a canopy of resilient winds, as they hang a furnace kut in a house with cloth in anticipation of guests. Cold winds began to crowd under the lake stretch, clouding his bluish-purple gaze. Avdey went to the city several times and brought either an ax made of Moscow steel or a long carpenter's gimlet with chisels. The work of the artel workers was progressing well, they had already completed the foundation of the temple, the middle tier and took up the upper sails. Pashka began to be respected even by first-class masters as a sharp-witted and diligent student. "The guy becomes a man, he will be good."
By the Intercession, the temple was completed. He stood on a hillock, sparkling with silver domes, and gladdened the heart. And inside was a feast for the eyes. Grandfather Avdey himself was surprised. Such a joy in the soul - not to express. To which Pashka was broken, and then he remarked: “When you enter it, it’s like a light lights up in your soul.” Artel workers began to dissolve the logs into bridges and pave the floor. And again Avdey teaches his student. “You,” he says, “don’t tear your belly, you won’t take it by force. Here an ant, for example, drags a load beyond its strength, but no one thanks him, and a bee carries honey bit by bit, but pleases both God and people. When the temple was paved, an altar was installed and a carved iconostasis was made with decoration according to church rules, he calls Pashka aside and says: “I found that log with a golden treasure, yes, my dear, I found it. And you helped me with this. But here's the thing, brother, it happened ... When I went to the city for an instrument, you put it in the wall, in that wall that is at noon. It is sixth from the bottom in a row, and the hollow from the corner is exactly four arshins. And he shows the young man that cherished tree and that place with a hollow. “Today,” he says, “a priest with a church choir is coming from the city, he will consecrate the temple and serve the first Liturgy, you must come.”
.jpg)
Pashka thought for a long time what to do. On the one hand, it is clear - the treasure is at his fingertips, come and take it, but only what a pity, having turned a resinous log with a chisel, to spoil such beauty! Yes, and let the work of the entire artel down the drain. And then how do you close the hole? “Yes, no matter how you close it, the mark will still remain - the mark of my self-interest for many years to come. And the artel workers will immediately notice, Avdey will tell them everything, and trust in me will disappear. But still, whatever happens later, gold is gold, it opens all doors, warms all hearts. Pashka took a wide chisel with a hammer, wrapped them in canvas and went to the temple for service. “When the Liturgy is over and everyone has dispersed, I will tell the church warden that I have not finished all the work, but I will be left alone - I will cut down the treasure from that log,” he decided.
There were many people in the temple. All are smartly dressed: women in satin shawls and new knits, men in weekend caftans and cowhide boots. It was warm from many burning candles and two stoves with chimneys led out through the upper windows. The good fellow stood in the right half of the porch, counted the sixth log from the bottom with his eyes, then measured four arshins from the corner and suddenly saw that in the counted place was the icon of the saint of God Nicholas the Wonderworker. But in the morning she wasn't there. It is true that the priest brought it from the city and hung it just in this place. Pashka was annoyed and began to wait. In a sparkling vestment, the priest led the service. He was assisted by a deacon in a long silver robe. “Let us pray to the Lord in peace,” the choir sang, so beautifully, spiritually and sublimely that Pashka listened and froze. It seemed to him that an unknown force was lifting him up, to the very domes, and his soul became so light and calm that for a moment he forgot about his intention.
Then he again remembered the treasure, looked at the icon of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker, on which sunlight fell from the window, and suddenly felt the stern, loving look of the saint. And everything was in him: spiritual firmness and affection, condemnation and forgiveness, and a revelation unknown to the young man until now. And the choir at that time sang the Cherubic Hymn. Pashka could not stand it, and tears rolled down from his eyes. He had never cried like that, even in early childhood, so frankly and purely.
Only once, when I saw my dead mother in a dream, did I feel something similar. Those were tears of repentance, the joy of light and life. At first, the young man seemed to be ashamed of them, but then, noticing that few people paid attention to him, sobbing, he went up to a wide candlestick, leaned over to a tin for candle ends and lowered his bundle into it - a hammer with a chisel.
And when the service ended and all the villagers kissed the holy cross and began to disperse, the church elder asked loudly: “Who forgot his instrument?” Pasha didn't answer. He went home and thought that today he had found his treasure, which was a thousand times more expensive than gold. He was invincible and inexhaustible. And let the gold lie. It's in a safe place. Maybe in a difficult time of the church it will come in handy.
Vasily Sukhomlinsky
Grandma and Petrik
On a warm spring day, the grandmother took her grandson with her to the forest. Getting ready for the road, she gave Petrik a basket of food and a flask of water. Petrik was a lazy boy, and soon the burden seemed heavy to him. Then the grandmother carried the basket of food herself.
In the forest, they sat down under a bush to rest. Soon a small bird flew to a nearby tree. She carried a hair in her beak.
Petrik quietly, so as not to frighten the bird, got up and saw a large hairy nest on a tree.
And the bird quickly flew away and soon returned to the nest with a hair in its beak. Petrik opened his eyes wide in surprise.
Grandmother,” he whispered, “did she really bring a hair every time and built such a big nest?
Yes, by a hair, - answered the grandmother. - This is a hardworking bird. Petrik thought. A minute later he said:
Grandma, can I carry the basket of food myself? And I'll carry your coat. Can?
Vasily Sukhomlinsky
Every person should
Mom and little Petrik got on the train. They go to a distant southern city, to the shore of the warm sea - to rest. Mom makes a bed on a shelf for herself and on a separate shelf for Petrik. The boy has dinner: he eats a delicious bun, a chicken leg and an apple. Gently swaying, the wagons are lulled to sleep. Petrik lay down on a soft bed and asked:
Mom, you said that the driver is driving the train. And who drives the train at night? Does he go by himself?
At night, the driver also drives the train.
How? Petrik is surprised. Does he not sleep at night?
Don't sleep, son.
We sleep, but he does not sleep? All night? Petrik is even more surprised.
Yes, the driver stays up all night. If he had fallen asleep even for a minute, the train would have crashed and we would have died.
But how is it so? - Petrik cannot understand. - Does he want to sleep?
I want to, but he has to drive the train. Every person must. Look out the window, you see: there is a tractor driver plowing the land in the field. It's night, and the man is working, do you see how the spotlight illuminates the field? Because he has to work at night.
And should I? - asks Petrik.
And you should.
What should I?
To be human, my mother replied. - It is most important. Work. Respect and honor elders. Despise laziness and negligence. Love your native land.
Petrik could not sleep for a long time.
Vasily Sukhomlinsky
Think right about work
Fifth graders planted a lot of rowan bushes. Someday a whole grove will grow. In the meantime, you need to water the bushes, take care of them.
They divided the bushes among the students. Each got four trees.
Mariyka and Olya are sitting at the same desk. And their rowan bushes are nearby.
The girls agree and come together to water the trees.
It is very easy to water the first mountain ash of Mariyka, the second is a little more difficult, the third is difficult, and the fourth has very little strength left.
But then Olya fell ill, and the pioneer leader asked Mariyka:
Water Olya's trees too. She's your friend.
Mariyka sighed heavily, took the bucket and went to the rowan grove. She kept thinking: now she has eight trees to water. Eight sprinklers of water must be carried from the well.
The girl got to work. I watered one tree, the second, the third. And here's the strange thing: the work seemed easy to her. Already on the sixth tree it became more difficult. The seventh tree was very difficult to water, and the eighth was barely strong enough.
“That's it,” thought Mariyka, having finished her work. Now I know how to make the job easier. You have to think: I have to water twelve trees. Then eight will be very easy to water.
So she did the next day. Getting ready for work, she kept thinking: I need to water twelve trees. Pull twelve buckets of water out of the well and take it to the rowan grove.
While watering, she kept thinking only about one thing: I have to water twelve trees today.
Watered eight - and did not feel tired. “The most difficult thing is to teach yourself to think correctly about work,” Mariyka recalled the teacher's words.
Vasily Sukhomlinsky
Not lost but found
When the son was twelve years old, his father gave him a new spatula and said:
Go, son, into the field, measure a plot of a hundred feet along and a hundred across, and dig up.
The son went into the field, measured the area and began to dig. He didn't know how to dig yet. It was difficult at first, until I got used to digging and adapted to the shovel.
By the end, things got better and better. But when the son plunged the shovel into the ground to turn over the last handful of soil, the shovel broke.
The son returned home, but his heart was restless: what would the father say for a broken shovel?
Forgive me, father, - said the son. - I made a loss in the economy. The shovel broke.
Have you learned to dig? Was it difficult or easy for you to dig at the end?
I learned, and it was easier to dig at the end than at the beginning.
So, you have not lost, but found.
What did I find, father?
Willingness to work. This is the most valuable find.
Application for competition "Come up with a fairy tale!"
Diploma informationNomination and title of the competition work
E-mail from which the letter is sent
The amount of the paid registration fee, i.e. 240 rubles. or 390 rub. and address *
If the collection is paid, then write the amount of payment and the address.
FULL NAME(fully)
Abbreviated name of the organization
Berbega Natalya Iosifovna
primary school teacher of the first qualification category
Crimea Military school 1-3 steps
Fairy tale "Happiness of work"
390 rub.
96033 Crimea, Krasnoperekops district, Voinka village, st. Lenina 40a, Military secondary school 1-3 steps (for Berbeg Natalya Iosifovna)
79788226179
Not
Fairy tale "Happiness of work"
It was so long ago
Somewhere very far away
Beyond the seas and forests
Beyond the high mountains
In that unknown country
The old man lived in his right mind.
He had three sons:
Three reliable loyal rear,
Three tall fellows
Three beautiful daredevils.
Lived in joy, in sorrow,
Years passed without notice.
The father has become very old
He called his sons to himself:
- You, sons, are my relatives,
You have become very big
And to live in this world
Truth must be valued.
Do any business
Sacrifice body and soul.
And to learn the business
You just need to not be lazy.
You go my children
Resemble you in the world
Learn the craft
Learn the skill
So that labor feeds you -
To thank the people...
They scattered around the world
Father waited a long time for an answer,
But, you can't hear a hello
From sons, no answer.
Sad father in sorrow,
And in the meantime, from afar
The eldest son has returned,
Just got off the horse, washed myself,
The father began to torture the child:
- What in the world could you find out?
The elder said without denial,
“I told you,” he said immediately.
A lot, father
Yes, I finally found out
There are many foreign languages,
Do not judge, father, you are strict
Because now I can understand
Where, what should we take,
I will enter into a speech with a foreigner
I will understand the visit of the natives.
- says the father in response,
I saw a lot, no doubt.
Yes, language is a good thing
You say you're so skillful
Just wait for the merchants
Those overseas fellows
And you need to feed yourself
Live right and honest...
It's been a day or two
The average tears from the horse barely:
He returned tired
Apparently he did a good job.
Happy father meets
Sadness in his eyes, he notices.
He began to ask his son
What, how, why, where?
Says the middle son in response
I traveled white light:
I was glad to serve the king
Live in the royal palace.
He ran a household there, tried
He quietly took care of business.
The king was pleased with me
But, skill, did not get it.
Hearing the tale of the second son,
The old man said sadly:
- After all, to live in a servant,
So grieve all your life.
You can't work
And you know how to live.
You play with fate
I am dissatisfied with you.
But the third brother did not return.
The father was indignant at first.
Perhaps there was a problem?
After all, there is no rumor, no trace.
The old man grieved for a long time,
Went looking (oh if I could),
Yes, the son once returned,
He came to the house of his father,
In rags, dirty and tired
Not talkative, very lethargic.
So my father began to ask:
- Well, tell me, finally,
What, my dear, have you learned?
What have you achieved in life?
- Oh, the path of the father was not easy,
Studied craftsmanship and lived poorly.
But now, father, I can work,
I could be useful to good people.
At the forge I received knowledge
He taught me his wise ways.
Can I forge a plow, I can a horseshoe,
I can turn iron, by the way,
Into a good tool
Now I will never be without bread.
- I'm proud of you, my son,
I won't brag about you.
You have obtained knowledge - and this is a treasure,
And in life there will be only harmony.
You need the skill
After all, you could learn the business.
Years have passed. Was a young man
And he became a famous blacksmith.
And the fairy tale teaches us to work,
Search, work - do not be lazy.
After all, happiness lies in work,
And laziness is not appreciated anywhere!
Two plows were made from the same piece of iron and in the same workshop. One of them fell into the hands of a farmer and immediately went to work, while the other spent a long time and completely uselessly lying around in the merchant's shop.
It happened some time later that the two countrymen met again. The farmer's plow shone like silver, and was even better than when he had just left the workshop; the plow, which had lain idle in the shop, darkened and covered with rust.
Tell me, please, why are you so shiny? asked the rusty plow of his old acquaintance.
From work, my dear, - he answered, - and if you have rusted and become worse than you were, then because all this time you lay on your side, doing nothing.
What you sow is what you reap (based on a Nenets fairy tale) |
There is a proverb - "What you sow, you will reap." Good deeds bring good fruits. Once upon a time there lived a little fox in the tundra. She wanted to take a walk. Look at the white light and show yourself. Here the fox got out of a warm mink and went to the seashore. He looks, and a small fish sticks its head out of the water. She is also called a bull. Although this goby from head to tail is a little more than a finger ...
I saw a goby fox and smiled with joy. And the bull's smile, as they say, is up to the ears ...
The fox took it into his head to tease the bull. She stood with her paws on her sides, stuck out her tongue longer and let's tease:
goby bull,
Curvy fool!
The bull-calf heard this and turned green with resentment. Yes, and how else? Offended for nothing. But the bull did not cry. And he said to the fox:
- And you ... you are a harmful fox!
And your tail is as thin as a pigtail.
As the fox heard this, it roared all over the tundra! And then she rushed home with all her legs. In a warm mink. Mama fox to complain.
- Mom, mom, the bull offended me! Eat it, mommy!
- Why did he hurt you? asks the mother fox.
He said I was bad! And also, that I have a tail like a pigtail! But my tail is the most fluffy in the whole tundra ... Mommy, this bull is bad! He's teasing... Eat him, mommy!
- How can I eat it? says the mother fox. - After all, he lives in the sea, and not in the tundra ... Where can I catch him? Yes, I know bulls. They won't hurt a fly. But if someone offends them, then they can stand up for themselves. Listen, daughter, didn’t you offend the bull yourself first?
The fox is silent. He does not dare to raise his eyes in shame. Yes, and what can I say? And so everything is clear. What she deserved, she got.
No wonder it is said. As you want people to do to you, do to them.
That's it.
You have your own mind |
The goat got used to the garden: it happened, as soon as the shepherds drove out their herd (herd. - Ed.), then my Vaska at first, like a kind one, goes, waving his head, shaking his beard; and as soon as the children sit down in the ravine somewhere to play pebbles, then Vaska goes straight into the cabbage.
Once he went the same familiar path, he goes to himself and snorts. At this time, a stupid sheep fought off the herd, went into the thicket, into the nettles and into the burdock; she stands, cordial, and screams, and looks around - is there anyone who is a kind person to lead out of this trouble. Seeing the goat, she was delighted, as if she were her own brother: I’ll go, they say, even after him. “This one will deduce: it’s not for me (not in the first. - Ed.) to go after him; with us and in front of the group that goat-leader is walking, follow him boldly!”
Our sheep went, tagging behind the goat. He through the ravine - she through the ravine; he through the tyn - she through the tyn, and got into the garden with him.
This time the gardener looked into his cabbages a little early and saw the guests. He grabbed a twig for a long time and rushed at the uninvited. The goat, as more agile, managed to jump over the tyn again, mumbled and went into an open field, and the poor sheep twitched, began to rush, timid, in all directions and got caught. The gardener did not spare his twig: he thrashed it all on the poor sheep, so that she was already screaming in a voice that was not her own, but there was no help from anyone. Finally, the gardener, thinking to himself: what good, still kill this fool, after the owner will become attached. He drove her out the gate and still pulled her out onto the road at full length with a twig.
A sheep came home, in a herd, and it cries at the goat, and the goat says:
And who told you to follow me tail? I went to my head, so is my answer; if the torment wilts my sides, then I won’t cry at anyone, not at the owner, why doesn’t he feed at home, or at the shepherd, for some reason he didn’t look after me, but I’ll be silent and endure. And you, why did the hard one carry me? I didn't call you.
And the goat, although a rogue, a thief, is right in this matter. Look everyone with your own eyes, scatter with your mind, and go where it is better. And the same thing happens with us: one indulges in some kind of sin, and the other, looking at him, follows him, but after he gets caught, and weeps at the teacher. Don't you have your own mind?
wonderful day |
|
There once lived two brothers. Each of them had many children. The brothers were pious and industrious. They taught hard work to their children, and the whole family was happy and rich.
Once one of the brothers called his nephews to him and said to them:
My brother, and your father, knows a day on which you can be forever rich if you work hard, and then live without labor. I myself experienced it myself, but now I forgot what day it is, so go to your father, he will tell you more precisely about it.
This was said because the children, hoping for their father's wealth, began to show some carelessness in their lives. They gladly went to their father and said:
Father, show us the day on which we could, having worked hard, then live happily without labor.
The father, realizing what was happening, answered:
I myself, children, have forgotten this day; but go and work hard for a year. At this time, perhaps you yourself will learn about a wonderful day that gives you a carefree life.
The children worked all year, but did not notice the miraculous day. The father paid tribute to them for their labors and said:
Here's what you do: now divide the year into four seasons: spring, autumn, winter and summer. Work hard and you will find that day.
The children acted according to the instructions of their father, but again they did not find the desired day. At the end of the year, my father gave this advice:
Divide the year into twelve months and work again and you will find that day.
They continued to work conscientiously, but this time they did not find a happy day either.
In the end, they said to their father:
And again we did not find the day you indicated. But by working, we have acquired our means of subsistence and will no longer work, in vain looking for the mysterious day.
The father replied:
Yes, dear children, by diligent and tireless work you have really gained a lot for yourself, so now you can live in peace. But if you began to work in the same way for a few more years, then your wealth would be enough for you, and your children, and those who, perhaps through no fault of their own, fell into great need. So, you have found the desired day.
The children understood their father and said:
Yes, we understand everything and thank you for the wise fatherly instruction.
|
Once upon a time there lived a cat, a goat and a ram in the same yard. They lived together: a bunch of hay and that in half; and if the pitchfork is in the side, then one cat Vaska. He is such a thief and a robber: where something lies badly, he looks there. Here comes a cat-purr, a gray forehead; goes so pitifully crying. They ask a cat a goat and a ram:
Cat-cat, gray pubis! What are you crying about, jumping on three legs?
Vasya answers them:
How can I not cry! A woman beat me, beat me; she tore out her ears, broke her legs, and even laid a noose on me.
And why did such trouble come to you? - ask the goat and the ram.
Eh-eh! For accidentally licking sour cream.
Serve the thief and flour, - says the goat, - do not steal sour cream!
The cat is crying again
A woman beat me, beat me; beat - she said: my son-in-law will come to me, where will I get sour cream? Involuntarily, a goat and a ram will have to be slaughtered.
A goat and a ram roared here:
Oh, you gray cat, your stupid forehead! Why did you ruin us?
They began to judge and decide how they could get rid of the great misfortune (avoid. Ed.), - and they decided right there: all three of them should run away. They lay in wait, as the hostess did not close the gate, and left.
A cat, a goat and a ram ran for a long time through the dales, over the mountains, over loose sands; landed and decided to spend the night on a mowed meadow; and on that meadow there are haystacks that are cities.
The night was dark, cold: where to get fire? And the purring cat already took out the birch bark, wrapped the horns around the goat and ordered him to bang his foreheads with the ram. A goat and a ram collided, sparks fell from their eyes: the birch bark blazed.
Okay, - said the gray cat, - now let's get warm! - Yes, without thinking twice, he lit a whole stack of hay.
Before they had time to warm up properly, an uninvited guest complains to them
little man-seryachok, Mikhailo Potapych Toptygin.
Let me go, - he says, - brothers, warm up and rest; something doesn't work for me.
Welcome, gray man! - says the cat. - Where are you going from?
I went to the bee-keeper, - says the bear, - to visit the bees, but I got into a fight with the peasants, that's why I pretended to be sick.
So they all began to while away the night together: a goat and a ram by the fire, a purr climbed onto the haystack, and the bear huddled under the haystack.
The bear fell asleep; the goat and the ram doze; one purr does not sleep and sees everything. And he sees: there are seven gray wolves, one white - and straight to the fire.
Fufu! What a people! - says the white wolf to the goat and the ram. Let's try strength.
A goat and a ram bleated here with fear; and the cat, a gray forehead, led the following speech:
Oh, white wolf, prince above the wolves! Do not anger our elder: he, God have mercy, is angry! How it diverges - no one will do well. Al you do not see his beard: in it is all the strength; he beats all the animals with a beard, only removes the skin with his horns. It’s better to come up and ask with honor: we want to play with your little brother, who sleeps under a haystack.
The wolves on that goat bowed; surrounded Misha and, well, to flirt. Here Misha fastened, fastened, and how enough for each paw for a wolf, so they sang Lazarus (complained about fate. - Ed.). The wolves got out from under the haystack barely alive and, with their tails between their legs, - God bless!
The goat and the ram, while the bear dealt with the wolves, picked up the purr on his back and hurry home: “Enough, they say, without a way to drag, we’ll make such a misfortune yet.”
The old man and the old woman were glad - happy that the goat and the ram returned home; and the cat - the purr was torn out for trickery.
Parables about labor
Two plows were repaired in the forge. They looked the same. One of them was left standing in the corner of the shed. Her life was easier than the life of another plow, which the peasant loaded onto a cart the next morning and brought to the field. There she became beautiful and brilliant. When the two plows met again in the barn, they looked at each other in surprise. The plow, which was not used in business, was covered with rust. With envy, she looked at her brilliant friend:
Tell me, how did you become so beautiful? After all, it was so good for me to stand in my corner in the silence of the barn.
This idleness has changed you, and I have become beautiful from work.
Christian parable
One day a man had a dream. He dreamed that he was walking along a sandy shore, and next to him was the Lord. Pictures from his life flashed in the sky, and after each of them he noticed two chains of footprints in the sand: one from his feet, the other from the feet of the Lord.
As the last picture of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. And he saw that often only one chain of footprints stretched along his life path. He also noticed that these were the most difficult and unhappy times in his life.
He became very sad and began to ask the Lord:
Didn't you tell me: if I follow your path, you will not leave me. But I noticed that during the most difficult times of my life, only one chain of footprints stretched across the sand. Why did you leave me when I needed you the most?
The Lord answered:
My sweet, sweet child. I love you and will never leave you. When there were sorrows and trials in your life, only one chain of footprints stretched along the road. Because in those days I carried you in my arms.
modern parable
The professor of philosophy, standing in front of his audience, took a five-liter glass jar and filled it with stones, each at least three centimeters in diameter.
At the end, he asked the students if the jar was full?
Answered: yes, full.
Then he opened a jar of peas and poured its contents into a large jar, shaking it a little. Polka dots took a free place between the stones. Once again, the professor asked the students, is the jar full?
Answered: yes, full.
Then he took a box filled with sand and poured it into a jar. Naturally, the sand occupied a completely existing free space and closed everything.
Once again, the professor asked the students, is the jar full? They answered: yes, and this time definitely, it is full.
Then from under the table he took a mug of water and poured it into the jar to the last drop, soaking the sand.
The students laughed.
And now I want you to understand that the bank is your life. Stones are the most important things in your life: family, health, friends, your children - everything that is necessary for your life to still remain complete even if everything else is lost. Polka dots are things that have become important for you personally: work, home, car. Sand is everything else, little things.
If you first fill the jar with sand, there will be no place left for peas and stones. And also in your life, if you spend all your time and all your energy on the little things, there is no room for the most important things. Do what makes you happy: play with your children, spend time with your spouse, meet friends. There will always be time to work, clean the house, fix and wash the car. First of all, take care of stones, that is, the most important things in life; determine your priorities: the rest is just sand.
Then the student raised her hand and asked the professor, what is the significance of water?
The professor smiled.
I'm glad you asked me about it. I did this simply to prove to you that no matter how busy your life is, there is always a little room for idle idleness.