“Lovely Couple” is a wonderful story in which all words begin with the letter “P. A wonderful story in which all words begin with the letter "P.

A story where all words begin with the letter P VISITING THE PRILUKIN'S ESTATE Before the Orthodox patronal feast day of the Monk Panteleimon, Peter Petrovich Polenov received a letter by mail. The overweight postman Prokofiy Peresypkin brought the heavy package after the afternoon snack. Having thanked, seeing off the letter carrier, Polenov read the letter full of pleasant wishes. “Petr Petrovich,” wrote Polina Pavlovna Prilukina, “come. Let's talk, take a walk, dream. Come, Petr Petrovich, as soon as possible, after the first Friday, while the weather is fine. " Petr Petrovich liked the invitation letter: it is a pleasure to receive a message from Polina Pavlovna. Thoughtful, dreamed. I recalled the first pre-fall trip of the year before last, last year's return visit to the Prilukinsky estate after the Easter holiday. Anticipating an excellent reception, Polenov analyzed the letter, thought about the trip, and made the right plan: to go at the invitation of Prilukina, to see Polina Pavlovna, who she liked. After dinner, Pyotr Petrovich cleaned his low shoes, blackened the scuffs, put the coat under the raincoat, prepared a pullover, a jacket, checked the strength of the sewn buttons, and hemmed the collar. He brought the briefcase, opened it slightly, put the present intended for Polina Pavlovna. Then he put down a towel, a purse, a first aid dressing bag, tweezers, a pipette, pills, a plaster. Polenov almost constantly when traveling prudently picked up such things: sometimes he had to dress the passengers, help the victims. Covering his briefcase, Polenov aired the room, prepared the bed, extinguished the plafond. Pyotr Petrovich woke up early in the morning, stretched. I got up, straightened myself: I did five-minute squats, turns of the lower back, jumps. I had breakfast. He dressed up in a festive way, straightened the fastened suspenders. After leaving the Penates, Polenov hurried to visit the hairdresser: shaved, cut his hair, combed his hair. Having thanked the hairdresser in a friendly manner, Pyotr Petrovich overcame a half-kilometer path along Privalovsky Prospect, crossed the underground passage, crossed the rebuilt square, embellished after the redevelopment. There are plenty of passengers. Walking along the platform crowded with passengers, Polenov, aside, respectfully greeted the strolling postmaster Petukhov. My friend Porfiry Plitchenko met. We stood and chatted about everyday problems. On the way I grabbed a half-liter of semi-sweet port and bought some peonies. Having served the seller a five-dollar one, I received a couple of packs of shortbread cookies. “Shopping will come in handy,” Polenov summed up. Buying a five-ruble reserved seat, I recalled the Prilukins' estate, I realized: I would like Polina Pavlovna. The post-passenger train, having passed Pskov, Ponyri, Pristen, Prokhorovka, Pyatikhatki, arrived in the afternoon. The conductor showed the Pryluky station and wiped the handrails. The train slowed down gradually. Polenov, thanking the conductor, left the train, crossed the access roads, the platform. He greeted the track-walker and walked along the station lane. Turning to the right, went straight. The Prilukins' estate appeared. In front of the main entrance, Pyotr Petrovich was greeted by Pavel Panteleevich, the most respectable gray-haired father of Polina Pavlovna. Have greeted. “We’re waiting, we’re waiting,” said the respectable, docile Pavel Panteleevich, puffing on a cigarette. - Please, Petr Petrovich, have a seat, rest after the trip. Let's wait for Polina Pavlovna, then let's go have a snack. A bald nephew approached with a springy penguin gait and greeted Pyotr Petrovich who had arrived. Let me introduce myself: Prokhor Polikarpovich, - said Prilukin's nephew, adjusting his pince-nez. The half-blind Pinscher Polkan hobbled along with a limp. At first the dog barked slowly, then, sniffing Polenov's low shoes, quieted down, cuddled, lay down. In front of the painted front garden appeared the magnificent-haired Polina Pavlovna, covered with a panama. Waving a blue handkerchief, she smoothly approached. Pyotr Petrovich bowed affably, presented the peonies, kissed the outstretched fingers. We talked for half an hour, joked, recalled Polenov's past visits. Pyotr Petrovich turned and looked: the fence, intertwined with wire, still divided the landlord's courtyard in half. The first half of the courtyard was a rectangular clearing intersected by pedestrian lanes sprinkled with sand. The right half of the courtyard was intended for basements and outbuildings. We walked along the trampled meadow. Polenov was faced with a one-and-a-half-story solid five-walled structure. “Perhaps the building is half a century old,” thought Polenov. We passed the portico. Holding Polina Pavlovna, Pyotr Petrovich crossed the threshold of the hallway, stepped over the threshold of the spacious room. I looked closely. There is complete order everywhere. I was amazed at the pomp of the room, the splendor. Brocade curtains, touching the floor, covered the primroses placed on the windowsills. The parquet floor is covered with elongated semi-woolen, tight-fitting rugs. The fawn semi-matt panels were illuminated by candlesticks attached almost to the ceiling. It smelled like paraffin. The perimeter ceiling was supported by rectangular pilasters covered with varnish. Hanging under the candlesticks are attractive landscape panels, portraits of the great-grandfather Pavel Panteleevich of Polish origin, the politician Peter the Great, Lieutenant of the Poltava Infantry Regiment Pashchenko, the writers Pisemsky, Pomyalovsky, the poets Pushkin, Prokofiev, Pestel, the travelers Przhevalsky, Potanin. Pavel Panteleevich admired Pushkin's poetry, periodically re-read Pushkin's poems and prose stories. Petr Petrovich asked Pavel Panteleevich to explain why a bandolier was suspended under the landscape panel. Prilukin came closer, opened the bandolier, showed Polenov the cartridges, said: - At the friendly proposal of the St. Petersburg landowner Pautov, you periodically have to hunt, relax after the everyday vicissitudes of the household. The last half of the year has shown an increase in floating birds. The poultry population is constantly replenished everywhere. Pavel Panteleevich accepted Pyotr Petrovich's request to try to hunt, to wander around the floodplain area of the winding Potudani flowing nearby. An invitation to dinner followed. They were treated beautifully. Oiled dumplings sprinkled with pepper, fried liver, garnished with fragrant parsley, pilaf, pickles, pate, spiced tomatoes, salted boletus boletus, boletus boletus, portioned pudding, mashed puree, hearth pie, chilled sauerkraut, were served. We put in orange, port, pepper, beer, punch. Pavel Panteleevich crossed himself, rubbed the bridge of his nose, crunched his fingers, smacked his lips. After skipping half a glass of orange, he began to eat dumplings. Polina Pavlovna took a sip of port. Pyotr Petrovich, following the example of Polina Pavlovna, took a sip of semi-sweet port. Shemyannik tried the pepper vodka. Polenov was offered to try the frothy beer. I liked the beer. We drank a little, ate tightly. Supporting a polished tray, a servant brought in lush, toasted donuts anointed with peach jam. We feasted on shortbread cookies, gingerbread cookies, pastries, marshmallows, peaches, ice cream. At Polenov's request, Pavel Panteleevich invited a cook. The complete cook came. Introduced herself: "Pelageya Prokhorovna Postolova." Pyotr Petrovich got up, personally thanked Pelageya Prokhorovna, praised the prepared food. Sitting down, I felt a pleasant satiety. After eating we went to rest. Polina Pavlovna invited Polenov to see a sparrowhawk. Then she showed the attractive purple parrot Petrusha. The parrot greeted them with a respectful bow. He jumped, began to beg, repeating constantly: "Petrusha to eat, Petrusha to eat ...". An elderly co-worker Praskovya Patrikeevna, covered with a worn, colorful kerchief, came up, nibbled a lean pie, laid it in front of the parrot. Petrusha sniffed, nibbled, bowed, brushed his feathers. Jumping on the rungs, he began to repeat: "Petrusha ate, Petrusha ate ...". Having looked at the parrot, we visited Polina Pavlovna's reception room, admired the repainted floor, in the middle covered with a semi-carved carpet. Polenov asked Polina Pavlovna to sing. Polina Pavlovna sang popular songs. The audience applauded. "Captivating songstress", - said Petr Petrovich. Polina Pavlovna stroked the piano with her fingers: the forgotten potpourri flowed smoothly. After a pause, we danced to the gramophone brought by our nephew. Polina Pavlovna turned in a pirouette, then made a "pas" in a semicircle. The nephew wound up the spring of the gramophone, rearranged the record. We listened to the polonaise, danced a pole. Daddy started to dance akimbo. After leaving the premises, Pavel Panteleevich sent a servant to call the clerk. The bailiff tried to arrive as quickly as possible. Pavel Panteleevich meticulously asked: - Has the carpenter repaired the cab? Having received positive confirmation, he ordered the clerk to submit a couple of piebald ones. A prepared landlord's parokonny cab rolled up. "Skewbald breeders," thought Polenov. The bailiff looked at the horseshoes, straightened, trimming, trims, bandaging, fitted the girth, tied the leash, checked the strength of the screwed semicircular wire footboard, rubbed the front of the carriage with a bundle of semi-damp tow. The plush pillows were covered with a bedspread. Polina Pavlovna went to change. While Polina Pavlovna was changing clothes, Pyotr Petrovich watched with understanding the process of the firefighter's meticulous checking of the pump and fire-fighting devices. After watching, the fireman recommended that the clerk who came up to fill the sandbox with sand, paint the stage. Polina Pavlovna came, taking a starchy cape. Petr Petrovich helped Polina Pavlovna to climb the footboard. We sat down more comfortably. The well-dressed clerk, imitating the landowner, got up, whistled, waved his whip, whipped up the piebald, shouted: - Come on, pegasus, let's go! The carriage flew off. We were shocked by the order, so we drove slower. Drove The story was written by N.A. Frolov, a veteran of the Second World War.

We study the next letter of the Russian alphabet - the letter P.

The letter P is the seventeenth letter of the Russian alphabet. The letter P denotes a consonant voiceless sound: hard [P] and soft [P "].

Words starting with P: penguin, dumpling, scarecrow, mail, pasta ...

The letter P in the middle of words: hat, ax, corkscrew, shout ...

The letter P at the end of words: stop, bug ...

Several letters P in one word: flood, drop, quail ...

Here you will find interesting poems for studying the letter P, riddles and poems about the letter P.

Poems starting with the letter P for children

The letter P in the gym
They called it a crossbar.
- Come on, dear, do not be lazy,
Come and pull yourself up.
(A. Shibaev)

Hockey, football
The letter P is the gate to the field.
(V. Stepanov)

We'll find the letter P at home,
Looking through the doorway.
(G. Vanyukhina)

The letter P is right at the gate,
Come in, who wants to.

Poems about the letter P, quatrains

With a SPIDER, this was the case:
Somehow he was making a web with a spider.
There is no funnier story -
He himself got entangled in it!

***
The shell is worn by a turtle,
hides his head in fear.

***
Penguin, swimming in the sea,
Sat on a snowy beach
And I thought: “How wonderful
On the south coast! "

***
Petya, Petya, Cockerel,
He gets to know the letter P,
For the Pope to read,
Everyone needs to know the letter P.

***
The cockerel flew up the fence,
He ordered all the birds to come to him,
You know my friends
On the letter P, all birds, and of course I.

Pete's dad says
Teach Petya the alphabet,
You will know the letter P
You can travel.

***
Someone recently said:
P is like a gate
I was too lazy to object
I knew that P was like a tree stump.

***
Hockey, football
Letter P - gate in the field

Poems about the letter P for grade 1

Family of the letter "P"

Stick, stick, roof on top -
The letter P came out on the line.

The roof fell from the letter P,
But I got stuck on the way.
Became a crossbar -
Find her in the letter N.

Jump-jump crossbar
And she lay down diagonally.
H has changed inside,
It turned out the letter I.

If suddenly above the letter I
The bird flew by
Become And the short letter I
I wanted it right away.
(T. Bokova)

Tomato and squash -
This food is for people.
And what is parsley?
This is a spicy herb.

Pepper, peach, and papaya
I answer your question,
From food with the letter "P"
Most of all I love mashed potatoes.

And the letter "P" looks like
Over there on the arch in the courtyard.

Then you will know completely:
"Did the job -
Walk boldly! "

Riddles with the letter P

Piano Proshino

New is good.

A finger will press a key,

The piano will sing:

Do-re-mi! Do-re-mi!

Better sing, not make noise!

Birds are dancing on the trail

Write them a letter ... (P)

Parrot, parrot,
Don't scare dad and mom.
Do not look for a bug in the rump,
Find us a letter ...

In this riddle, you must first guess the words about which in question, and then the letter that these words begin with.

The letter in the sea catches the wind,
The sun wakes up at dawn
Holds skirts and pants
Where they should be.

Answer: letter P (sail, rooster, belt)

Tongue twisters with the letter P

Petya was sawing a stump with a saw.

On the heels of the hippo
The hippo stomps.

A pair of birds fluttered, fluttered -
Yes, and flew out.

The field is not watered, the field is not watered,
Asks a pole to drink -
You need to water the pole.

Petr Petru baked pies.

The Victory Parade pleased me after the Victory.
After the victory, we are happy with the Victory Parade.

One of the scientific symposia brought together linguists: an Englishman, a German, an Italian, a Frenchman, a Pole and a Russian. Naturally, we were talking about languages. They began to argue, whose language is more beautiful, better, richer, and which language does the future belong to?

The Englishman said: “England is a country of great sailors and travelers who spread the glory of her language all over the world. English- the language of Shakespeare, Dickens, Byron - undoubtedly the best in the world. "

“I disagree,” the German replied. - German- the language of science and philosophy, medicine and technology, the language in which Goethe's world work Faust is written is the best in the world. "

“You're both wrong,” the Italian argued. - Think, all mankind loves music, songs, romances, operas. And in what language do the best love songs, the most enchanting melodies and brilliant operas sound? In the language of sunny Italy ”.

“A significant contribution to world literature,” said the representative of France, “was made by French writers. Obviously, everyone has read Balzac, Hugo, Stendhal ... Their works demonstrate greatness French... By the way, in the 19th century, many representatives of the Russian intelligentsia studied French. "

The floor was taken by the representative of Poland. “The Polish language is original in its own way,” he said. The Poles consider him understandable and handsome. This is confirmed by the works of Boleslav Prus, Henryk Sienkiewicz and my other compatriots. "

The Russian listened silently and attentively, thinking about something. But when his turn came to speak about the language, he said: “Of course, I could, just like each of you, say that the Russian language, the language of Pushkin and Lermontov, Tolstoy and Nekrasov, Chekhov and Turgenev, surpasses all the languages of the world. But I will not follow your path. Tell me, could you compose a short story in your languages with a plot and a denouement, with a consistent development of the plot, but so that all the words of this story begin with the same letter? "

The interlocutors looked at each other. This question puzzled them. All five responded that it was impossible to do this in their languages.

“But in Russian it is quite possible,” said the Russian. After a short pause, he suggested: “I can prove it to you now. Give me a letter, ”he said to the Pole.

“It's all the same,” the Pole replied. - Since you have turned to me, write a story with the letter 'p', which begins the name of my country. "

“Great,” said the Russian. - Here's a story for the letter "p". By the way, this story can, for example, be called "A visit to the Prilukins' estate."

VISITING THE PRILUKIN'S ESTATE

Before the Orthodox patronal feast day of the Monk Panteleimon, Peter Petrovich Polenov received a letter by mail. The overweight postman Prokofiy Peresypkin brought the heavy package after the afternoon snack. Having thanked, seeing off the letter carrier, Polenov read the letter full of pleasant wishes. “Petr Petrovich,” wrote Polina Pavlovna Prilukina, “come. Let's talk, take a walk, dream. Come, Petr Petrovich, as soon as possible, after the first Friday, while the weather is fine. "

Petr Petrovich liked the invitation letter: it is a pleasure to receive a message from Polina Pavlovna. Thoughtful, dreamed.

I recalled the first pre-fall trip of the year before last, last year's return visit to the Prilukinsky estate after the Easter holiday.

Anticipating an excellent reception, Polenov analyzed the letter, thought about the trip, and made the right plan: to go at the invitation of Prilukina, to see Polina Pavlovna, who she liked.

After dinner, Pyotr Petrovich cleaned his low shoes, blackened the scuffs, put the coat under the raincoat, prepared a pullover, a jacket, checked the strength of the sewn buttons, and hemmed the collar. He brought the briefcase, opened it slightly, put the present intended for Polina Pavlovna. Then he put down a towel, a purse, a first aid dressing bag, tweezers, a pipette, pills, a plaster. Polenov almost constantly when traveling prudently picked up such things: sometimes he had to dress the passengers, help the victims. Covering his briefcase, Polenov aired the room, prepared the bed, extinguished the plafond.

Pyotr Petrovich woke up early in the morning, stretched. I got up, straightened myself: I did five-minute squats, turns of the lower back, jumps. I had breakfast. He dressed up in a festive way, straightened the fastened suspenders.

After leaving the Penates, Polenov hurried to visit the hairdresser: shaved, cut his hair, combed his hair. Having thanked the hairdresser in a friendly manner, Pyotr Petrovich overcame a half-kilometer path along Privalovsky Prospect, crossed the underground passage, crossed the rebuilt square, embellished after the redevelopment. There are plenty of passengers. Walking along the platform crowded with passengers, Polenov, aside, respectfully greeted the strolling postmaster Petukhov. My friend Porfiry Plitchenko met. We stood and chatted about everyday problems. On the way I grabbed a half-liter of semi-sweet port and bought some peonies. Having served the seller a five-dollar one, I received a couple of packs of shortbread cookies. “Shopping will come in handy,” Polenov summed up.

Buying a five-ruble reserved seat, I recalled the Prilukins' estate, I realized: I would like Polina Pavlovna.

The post-passenger train, having passed Pskov, Ponyri, Pristen, Prokhorovka, Pyatikhatki, arrived in the afternoon.

The conductor showed the Pryluky station and wiped the handrails. The train slowed down gradually. Polenov, thanking the conductor, left the train, crossed the access roads, the platform. He greeted the track-walker and walked along the station lane. Turning to the right, went straight. The Prilukins' estate appeared.

In front of the main entrance, Pyotr Petrovich was greeted by Pavel Panteleevich, the most respectable gray-haired father of Polina Pavlovna. Have greeted.

We are waiting, we are waiting, - said, puffing on a cigarette, the respectable, docile Pavel Panteleevich. - Please, Petr Petrovich, have a seat, rest after the trip. Let's wait for Polina Pavlovna, then let's go have a snack.

A bald nephew approached with a springy penguin gait and greeted Pyotr Petrovich who had arrived.

Let me introduce myself: Prokhor Polikarpovich, - said Prilukin's nephew, adjusting his pince-nez.

The half-blind Pinscher Polkan hobbled along with a limp. At first the dog barked slowly, then, sniffing Polenov's low shoes, quieted down, cuddled, lay down.

In front of the painted front garden appeared the magnificent-haired Polina Pavlovna, covered with a panama. Waving a blue handkerchief, she smoothly approached.

Pyotr Petrovich bowed affably, presented the peonies, kissed the outstretched fingers.

We talked for half an hour, joked, recalled Polenov's past visits. Pyotr Petrovich turned and looked: the fence, intertwined with wire, still divided the landlord's courtyard in half. The first half of the courtyard was a rectangular clearing intersected by pedestrian lanes sprinkled with sand. The right half of the courtyard was intended for basements and outbuildings.

We walked along the trampled meadow. Polenov was faced with a one-and-a-half-story solid five-walled structure. “Perhaps the building is half a century old,” thought Polenov. We passed the portico.

Holding Polina Pavlovna, Pyotr Petrovich crossed the threshold of the hallway, stepped over the threshold of the spacious room. I looked closely. There is complete order everywhere. I was amazed at the pomp of the room, the splendor. Brocade curtains, touching the floor, covered the primroses placed on the windowsills. The parquet floor is covered with elongated semi-woolen, tight-fitting rugs.

The fawn semi-matt panels were illuminated by candlesticks attached almost to the ceiling. It smelled like paraffin. The perimeter ceiling was supported by rectangular pilasters covered with varnish. Hanging under the candlesticks are attractive landscape panels, portraits of great-grandfather Pavel Pantelevich of Polish origin, the politician Peter the Great, Lieutenant of the Poltava Infantry Regiment Pashchenko, writers Pisemsky, Pomyalovsky, poets Pushkin, Prokofiev, Pestel, travelers Przhevalsky, Potanin. Pavel Panteleevich admired Pushkin's poetry, periodically re-read Pushkin's poems and prose stories.

Petr Petrovich asked Pavel Panteleevich to explain why a bandolier was suspended under the landscape panel. Prilukin came closer, opened the cartridge belt, showed Polenov the cartridges, said:

At the friendly suggestion of the St. Petersburg landowner Pautov, he periodically has to hunt, relax after the daily vicissitudes of the household. The last half of the year has shown an increase in floating birds. The poultry population is constantly replenished everywhere.

Pavel Panteleevich accepted Pyotr Petrovich's request to try to hunt, to wander around the floodplain area of the winding Potudani flowing nearby.

An invitation to dinner followed. They were treated beautifully. Oiled dumplings sprinkled with pepper, fried liver, garnished with fragrant parsley, pilaf, pickles, pate, spiced tomatoes, salted boletus boletus, boletus boletus, portioned pudding, mashed puree, hearth pie, chilled sauerkraut, were served. We put in orange, port, pepper, beer, punch.

Pavel Panteleevich crossed himself, rubbed the bridge of his nose, crunched his fingers, smacked his lips. After skipping half a glass of orange, he began to eat dumplings. Polina Pavlovna took a sip of port. Pyotr Petrovich, following the example of Polina Pavlovna, took a sip of semi-sweet port. The nephew tasted the pepper vodka. Polenov was offered to try the frothy beer. I liked the beer.

We drank a little, ate tightly. Supporting a polished tray, a servant brought in lush, toasted donuts anointed with peach jam. We feasted on shortbread cookies, gingerbread cookies, pastries, marshmallows, peaches, ice cream.

At Polenov's request, Pavel Panteleevich invited a cook. The complete cook came.

Introduced herself: "Pelageya Prokhorovna Postolova." Pyotr Petrovich got up, personally thanked Pelageya Prokhorovna, praised the prepared food. Sitting down, I felt a pleasant satiety.

After eating we went to rest. Polina Pavlovna invited Polenov to see a sparrowhawk. Then she showed the attractive purple parrot Petrusha. The parrot greeted them with a respectful bow. He jumped, began to beg, repeating constantly: "Petrusha to eat, Petrusha to eat ...".,

An elderly co-worker Praskovya Patrikeevna, covered with a worn, colorful kerchief, came up, nibbled a lean pie, and laid it in front of the parrot. Petrusha sniffed, nibbled, bowed, brushed his feathers. Jumping on the rungs, he began to repeat: "Petrusha ate, Petrusha ate ...".

Having looked at the parrot, we visited Polina Pavlovna's reception room, admired the repainted floor, in the middle covered with a semi-carved carpet. Polenov asked Polina Pavlovna to sing. Polina Pavlovna sang popular songs. The audience applauded. "Captivating songstress", - said Petr Petrovich.

Polina Pavlovna stroked the piano with her fingers: the forgotten potpourri flowed smoothly.

After a pause, we danced to the gramophone brought by our nephew. Polina Pavlovna turned in a pirouette, then made a "pas" in a semicircle. The nephew wound up the spring of the gramophone, rearranged the record. We listened to the polonaise, danced a pole. Daddy started to dance akimbo.

After leaving the premises, Pavel Panteleevich sent a servant to call the clerk. The bailiff tried to arrive as quickly as possible. Pavel Panteleevich meticulously asked:

Has the carpenter repaired the cab?

Having received positive confirmation, he ordered the clerk to submit a couple of piebald ones. A prepared landlord's parokonny cab rolled up. "Skewbald breeders," thought Polenov.

The bailiff looked at the horseshoes, straightened, trimming, trims, bandaging, fitted the girth, tied the leash, checked the strength of the screwed semicircular wire footboard, rubbed the front of the carriage with a bundle of semi-damp tow. The plush pillows were covered with a bedspread. Polina Pavlovna went to change.

While Polina Pavlovna was changing clothes, Pyotr Petrovich watched with understanding the process of the firefighter's meticulous checking of the pump and fire-fighting devices. After watching, the fireman recommended that the clerk who came up to fill the sandbox with sand, paint the stage.

Polina Pavlovna came, taking a starchy cape. Petr Petrovich helped Polina Pavlovna to climb the footboard. We sat down more comfortably.

The well-dressed clerk, imitating the landowner, got up, whistled, waved his whip, whipped up the piebald ones, shouted:

Come on, pegasus, let's go!

The carriage flew off. We were shocked by the order, so we drove slower. We drove past a dusty field plowed by plows by means of steam tractors (the Poltava resident Pashchenko helped to acquire the steam tractors). The fertile soil is dry. Wilted wheatgrass, motherwort; tumbleweeds, plantains faded, turned yellow; the nightshade fruits darkened.

A decent sown area of ripening wheat seemed to be right-handed. A gentle hillock was blazing with sunflowers. Having left the cab, we crossed the wasteland, a clearing. One by one, we walked straight along the sandy strip.

A deep pond stretched in the distance. Come over. In the middle of the surface of the pond, a couple of beautiful pelicans were swimming.

We're buying, - Polenov suggested.

Let's catch a cold, - Polina Pavlovna warned. Then she admitted: "I swim badly."

We sowed along the reach. Minnows, roach splashed nearby, pond leeches swam.

With the help of a pontoon raft, we rode pleasantly over the pond under a firmly attached canvas sail. Then we walked along a half-overgrown half-shrub wormwood meadow.

The pristine nature appeared behind the pond. Petr Petrovich was struck by the beautiful landscape panorama. Freedom! Plenty! Just perfect! Polina Pavlovna sniffed the fragrant petunia, admired the weaving of a transparent web by a spider, was afraid to disturb her. Polenov, squinting, listened: the songbirds were singing. Disturbed quails echoed every minute, frightened warblers fluttered. Ferns and pickles were everywhere. Admired the pyramidal fir, the plane tree entwined with ivy.

Pyotr Petrovich noticed the flight of bees: perhaps, behind the copse there is an apiary. “Beekeeping is profitable, the bee product is useful,” Polenov estimated.

A pasture was visible in front of the churchyard; the elderly simple-haired shepherd Pakhom, holding his staff, grazed first-class heifers, nibbling the dodder.

An hour and a half walk along Prilukino seemed just excellent. After the trip, Pavel Panteleevich kindly invited Polenov to take a walk in the manor park, then see the buildings, production.

There was an intermittent muffled cry. Pyotr Petrovich listened, shrugged his shoulders. Pavel Panteleevich understood the frightened Polenov, hastened to explain:

The tribe smacks Porfishka's henchman. The day before yesterday I watched a one and a half month old pig. Seriously. It's time to get smarter.

Will grow up, wiser.

"Disgusting executioner, he found a reason to whip the henchman," Polenov thought of Prokhor Polikarpovich. The shrewd Pyotr Petrovich noticed: the nephew is a rogue, a sycophant - he has adapted, uses the landlord's motions. He was ashamed to contradict Prilukin. I understood: my nephew was constantly under the auspices of Prilukin.

We visited the nursery, saw a half-hectare fruit peach plantation, greenhouses, a demonstration poultry farm. The birdwoman showed fifty pestles. Before the construction, the servants were sorting through last year's stubbled hemp. A cart drove through the courtyard; Under the supervision of an agile clerk, the brought millet was moved under the annex. The servants fed up the running up spotted pigs with washed, steamed wheat.

Five tanned guys alternately sawed half-meter logs, supplied by the carpenter Parfen, with a transverse saw. The woodpile was gradually replenished. Getting a decent pay, the guys had to sweat. When they finished sawing, the guys helped the carpenter to nail down the crossbar that supported the woodpiles. "

Behind the primitive extension, a rooster crowed, flying over the wattle fence. The Plymouthrocks walked along the landing and pecked at the sprinkled millet.

Polenov inquired about the progressive process of processing fruit products, making a monthly profit. They explained to Petr Petrovich in detail: the profit is calculated periodically, the products are sold to the residents of Prilukinsky at a cheaper price, and to the visiting customers at a higher price. The production figures are consistently decent.

Having visited the converted basement room, Polenov watched the production process of getting jam.

Petr Petrovich was asked to taste peach jam. I liked the jam.

Half of the basement is used as a bakery. The baker showed the baking ovens. A blazing stove flame illuminated the coasters covered with whitewashed linen, prepared for holiday cakes.

After viewing the stoves, Polina Pavlovna advised Pyotr Petrovich to take a walk in the park.

Let's sit down, - suggested Polina Pavlovna.

Perhaps, - supported Polenov.

We looked at a flat stump under the fir. We sat down. They were silent. It is clear: tired. A peacock was walking calmly nearby.

Beautiful weather, - whispered Polina Pavlovna.

Polenov, thoughtful, assented. We talked about the weather, about friends.

Polina Pavlovna told about her visit to Paris. Polenov envied the "traveler". We recalled the details of the walk on the pond. They joked, laughed, exchanged jokes, retold proverbs, sayings.

Polina Pavlovna moved closer, ran her fingers over Polenov's shoulder. Pyotr Petrovich turned and admired Polina Pavlovna: lovely, like the first snowdrop. The first kiss sounded.

We will marry, we will marry, ”Pavel Panteleevich, half-jokingly, half-seriously blasted, winking, slowly approaching, gleaming with the mother-of-pearl buttons of his striped pajamas.

We will marry, we will marry, - squeaky repeating, like a parrot, repeated the agile nephew who appeared, gazing intently over his pince-nez.

Daddy, stop it, - Polina Pavlovna, who turned pink, asked in a half-whisper.

Full, full of pretending, good girl, - said Pavel Panteleevich. He shook his finger at the ingenuous Polina Pavlovna, patting Polenov on the shoulder.

Pyotr Petrovich blushed, straightened his jacket, respectfully bowed to Polina Pavlovna to the waist, and hurried to leave the park.

Seeing off Polenov, Polina Pavlovna wished him a pleasant journey ... Pavel Panteleevich opened his cigarette case, crumpled a cigarette with his fingers, lit a cigarette, and coughed. The nephew, obedient to the patron saint, nicknamed Polenov an idle hanger, rubbed his pince-nez with a handkerchief, touched his sweaty chin, stomped, and said nothing.

Polina Pavlovna, beaming up, quietly kissed the gilded ring presented by Pyotr Petrovich.

Evening came on, coolness blew.

Waiting for the train, Polenov, on reflection, analyzed the behavior. He admitted: he practically acted according to the rules of decency. Walking along the platform, I waited for the train to approach. I tried to understand what had happened under the clatter of the train. Polenov thought: “Polina Pavlovna is a fitting game, a fitting one. Change mind? Why? To override, to change your mind is a bad omen. " I understood: I fell in love with Polina Pavlovna. I was glad to see Pavel Panteleevich.

Before Polenov flashed the prospect of getting a decent estate by right. Pyotr Petrovich recognized the correct principle of the landowner to be useful. At first, Polenov considered Prilukin a pedant. Later I realized: Pavel Panteleevich is an excellent entrepreneurial production worker who understands production practice correctly. I thought: "We'll have to succeed, follow the example of the landowner's lifelong position."

Whistling invitingly, a steam locomotive puffed. Polenov, like fellow passengers, half the way, reclining calmly dozed off.

Arrived after midnight. He aired the empty chambers. I had dinner. I prepared the bed: I made a sheet, put down a duvet cover, straightened a crumpled pillow, brought a half-woolen blanket. Tired, I lay down to sleep. The downy featherbed accepted Polenov, who was bored after a pleasant trip.

Woke up late. Have a good meal. Showing punctuality, I visited the post office: I sent Polina Pavlovna a message - a proposal written in almost printed handwriting. He added an afterword: "It's time to end vegetation ...".

Pyotr Petrovich was bored for a couple of five days while Polina Pavlovna sent confirmation of the receipt of the letter. I read it. Polina Pavlovna accepted the offer, invites Petr Petrovich to come and talk.

Polenov went by invitation. Pyotr Petrovich was received simply excellently. Polina Pavlovna, hushed up, came up, bowed, supporting the poplin dress made by the Prilukino dressmaker before Polenov's arrival. I bowed to the invited friends. Polenov noticed: Polina Pavlovna used powder, lipstick.

The prescribed procedure has passed. Polenov repeated the offer. Polina Pavlovna made a heartfelt confession. The friends praised Pyotr Petrovich's deed, congratulated, presented the prepared gifts, saying:

Pyotr Petrovich did the right thing. Look: a truly lovely couple.

Accepting the donated items, Polenov thanked those present.

The engagement feast lasted for almost half a day.

An Englishman, Frenchman, Pole, German and Italian were forced to admit that the Russian language is the richest

Nikolay Alekseevich Frolov

The Russian language is one of the most widespread languages in the world. It is the fifth among all languages in the world in terms of the total number of speakers and the eighth in terms of the number of those who speak it as a native. As of 2015, the number of Russian speakers is 260 million. It should be noted that Russian is considered one of the most difficult and vocabulary rich. An interesting confirmation will be the story in which all words begin with the letter "P".

Petr Petrovich Petukhov, lieutenant of the fifty-fifth Podolsk infantry regiment, received a letter in the mail full of pleasant wishes.

“Come,” wrote the lovely Polina Pavlovna Perepelkina, “let's talk, dream, dance, take a walk, visit a half-forgotten half-overgrown pond, go fishing. Come, Pyotr Petrovich, to visit as soon as possible. "

Petukhov liked the offer. I figured I would come. He grabbed a half-worn field cloak and thought: it will come in handy.

The train arrived in the afternoon. Peter Petrovich was received by the most respectable dad of Polina Pavlovna, Pavel Panteleimonovich.

“Please, Pyotr Petrovich, sit down more comfortably,” said dad. A bald nephew came up, introduced himself: “Porfiry Platonovich Polikarpov. We ask, we ask. "

The lovely Pauline appeared. A transparent Persian shawl covered full shoulders. We talked, joked, invited to dinner. Dumplings, pilaf, pickles, liver, pate, pies, cake, half a liter of orange were served. We had a hearty lunch. Pyotr Petrovich felt a pleasant satiety.

After a meal, after a hearty snack, Polina Pavlovna invited Pyotr Petrovich to take a walk in the park. A half-forgotten half-overgrown pond stretched in front of the park.

We took a ride under the sails. After swimming on the pond, we went for a walk in the park.

“Let's sit down,” Polina Pavlovna suggested. We sat down. Polina Pavlovna moved closer. We sat and were silent. The first kiss sounded.

Pyotr Petrovich got tired, offered to lie down, spread his half-worn field cloak, thought: it came in handy. We lay down, rolled around, fell in love. “Pyotr Petrovich is a prankster, a scoundrel,” Polina Pavlovna said as usual.

"Marry, marry!" - whispered the bald nephew.

“We will get married, we will get married,” said the dad who came up.

Pyotr Petrovich turned pale, staggered, then ran away. Running, I thought: "Polina Petrovna is a wonderful game, to be so full of steam."

Before Pyotr Petrovich the prospect of getting a wonderful estate flashed through. Hastened to send an offer. Polina Pavlovna accepted the offer, and later got married.

Friends came to congratulate, brought gifts. Passing the package, they said: "Lovely couple."

Usually no prefaces are written to stories. But for the story "A visit to the Prilukins' estate" it is necessary. Firstly, this story is written in the original genre, when all words begin with the same letter. Secondly, perhaps most importantly:

A visit to the Prilukins' estate truly demonstrates the richness of the Russian language. Thirdly, it is necessary to show the reason for the appearance of the story. There may be several such reasons. The author also made the assumption that linguists from England, France, Germany, Italy, Poland and Russia met at one scientific symposium. Naturally, they started talking about languages. And they began to find out whose language is better, richer, more expressive.

The Englishman said: “England is a country of great sailors and travelers who spread the glory of her language all over the world. English - the language of Shakespeare, Dickens, Byron - is undoubtedly the best in the world. "

“I disagree,” the German replied. "The German language is the language of science and philosophy, medicine and technology, the language in which Goethe's world work Faust is written is the best in the world."

“A significant contribution to world literature,” said the representative of France, “was made by French writers. Obviously, everyone has read Balzac, Hugo, Stendachi ... Their works demonstrate the greatness of the French language. By the way, in the 19th century, many representatives of the Russian intelligentsia studied French. "

The interlocutors looked at each other. This question puzzled them. All five responded that it was impossible to do this in their languages.

“But in Russian it is quite possible,” said the Russian. After a short pause, he suggested: “I can prove it to you now. Give me a letter, ”he said to the Pole.

“It's all the same,” the Pole replied. - Since you have turned to me, make a story with the letter "p", which begins the name of my country. "