Так чисто поделиться... Наверное года три-четыре назад, решил...

So purely to share ... Probably three or four years ago, I decided to write fairy tales. The small one grows, soon all the texts will be understood ... For now, honestly, there is anxiety, “will it go?”, “But will it?” Because friends, a piece, lay out on your court, and you really answer, anyway, or not. You will tell your little ones, or to Leshem, this creation ... So ...
Well, come on son, go to bed - said the mother - throw the blanket on her legs?
- No, don't ... you better tell me Squeak saw? ..
- No, baby, I did not see it, but I heard its fable, and the folder told them. Do you want to tell you?
- Yes, mother - the son said ...
- Well, listen ... In one stanitsa, in a hut, a son of a centurion of a Cossack, a son was born. A midwife, Nastasya's grandmother, put all the crosses to the icons, but the “Master” put the milk in the saucer for the stove, it was too hard to take ... My son was born, helpy, even if it was, hungry to the bottom that your calf was wet-lipped. And Alyoshenka began to live-be, and gain weight. How long is it short, but the crib has become small. I made a folder for my son, a nobleman’s crib, with a feather bed sweet. And Alyoshenka slept on it and a dark little dark and sunny day with great pleasure. And one night long, frosty in winter, creaked, someone whined behind the chimney ... Aleshenka fell asleep already, but no, startled, and in the moonlight, he saw through the window that shone, not a small mushroom and not big, and huge ... I watched my son, with delight, but with fright, at the miracle, wonderful, at the marvelous. And the mushroom says: "Hey, little eyes and then pretend and sup in two holes, and I, well, so be it, you will bewitch you with your colliers, I will get bogged down, but I will sleep ... And my son is a restless, all in the nurse with a folder, I didn't let the eyes down, but let's ask the stranger, ask, but little by little the truth. "Who are you grandfather?" - the son asked - "But what about your dark night?"
The stranger answered, it looked like a mushroom shadow: "I’m neither erratic, nor passable, like coal, nor Khan’s dog, but part of Russia rich, Squeak I, master of dreams and falling asleep, hide the sufferings behind the stove, behind the boot - admonitions, Gorische is censure, but secret knowledge is under the order. But tell me, good fellow, do you like heat or a good boy in your dreams, do you read the father with your mother, and what do you expect from bratushkas? " And Alyoshenka has become like a silent fish, but as wax is malleable.
The creak looked, paused, and muttered: “Eh, overzealous, frightened again, rude. It would be necessary to fix it with a tale ...” From the bosom, from under the homespun, linen shirt pulled out the creak, pipe, and the melody flowed down, that the turtledocks on the roof are already startled. And Skryp began to tell, but to show all the overseas pictures ... How long did Aleshenka fall asleep for a long time, and Squat removed the pipe, sat down on a blanket, tucked under the barrel, and said: "I will come again, I will bay again about Lakho, and how to fall asleep it is quiet in the swamp, how to wake up in the morning, and not to encounter the Olyona mermaid ... "He said this, but disappeared ... Not for long did the tale have an effect, and often the creaking came back. He separated the truth from Krivda, and instructed the little child on the Path of the Sort.