My teacher of Russian and literature, the lady was very intelligent (in some generation there, as is commonly said). She took her granddaughter (4-5 years old), who visited her in the summer, back home. The girl was a straight angel in curls, blue eyes, curls-chips, sat and painted. Half the car admired her. One of the admirers:
What are you doing? Do you put pencil?
The child cried and said:
The hero does not go!
Fifteen years have passed, and the teacher still remembers and redens.