1 Krak darted out from behind the twisted root of an alder, black all over with the stinking mire of the marsh, and with the air of a conqueror sniffed at Laska.
2 Behind Krak there came into view in the shade of the alder tree the shapely figure of Stepan Arkadyevitch.
3 Birds twittered their adieux from the alders in the lane, and every tree stood ready to send down its shower of red or yellow apples at the first shake.
4 He had only five birds in his game-bag when he walked out of the marsh towards the alders where he was to rejoin Stepan Arkadyevitch.
5 It bolted for a thicket of alders.