And one evening I stole the Russian primer and repaired to a secret place I knew of.

It was a storeroom for broken chairs and rusty utensils and dried apples.
Nobody would look for me in that dusty hole.

Nobody did look there, but they looked everywhere else, in the house, and in the yard, and in the barn, and down the street, and at our neighbors'; and while everybody was searching and calling for me, and telling each other when I was last seen, and what I was then doing, I, Mashke, was bending over the stolen book, rehearsing A, B, C, by the names my sister had given them; and before anybody hit upon my retreat, I could spell B-O-G, _Bog_ (God) and K-A-Z-A, _Kaza_ (goat).

I did not mind in the least being caught, for I had my new accomplishment to show off.
I remember the littered place, and the high chest that served as my table, and the blue glass lamp that lighted my secret efforts.

I remember being brought from there into the firelit room where the family was assembled, and confusing them all by my recital of the simple words, B-O-G, _Bog_, and K-A-Z-A, _Kaza_.