Then comes the chance of the man with the gun."
"Good," said I, "that sounds all right; we will try it to-morrow night.
Is there a pig to be had?"
"Anton"s sow has a litter a month or two old. I will buy one--a rouble will purchase it."
Gavril procured the pig, and brought it safely housed in a small sack.
It was squealing when he brought it, and I may say, without exaggeration, that so long as that pig and I were together, it never ceased for more than a second to give vent to its feeling of disgust and anger at the treatment to which it was subjected.
"I chose it for its voice," said Gavril, grinning; "the wolves prefer loud music; they come miles to hear it!"
Then we settled ourselves in the extremely comfortable village sledge which Gavril had brought with him, and started for our midnight drive.
That drive was delicious. The moonlight, the ghostly pines, the cold crisp air, the gleaming snow everywhere, the delightful motion, all added to the delight of it; the horrible noise made by our little friend in the sack was the only thing that broke the peace.
I dozed at intervals, and perhaps Gavril dozed also. At any rate, he gave me no warning of what was coming, and the sudden shock of it, I have reason to believe, surprised him as much as myself. I was fast asleep at the moment, and the entire situation burst upon me with absolute suddenness. I was conscious of a sudden violent jolt, the sledge overturned--or half upset, and righted itself, and I found myself rolling in the snow, together with the sack and the little squealing pig, which yelled l.u.s.tily--more l.u.s.tily than ever--in protest at being pitched out.
What had happened was this. First one wolf, then another had appeared on either side, among the trees, and Gavril was just putting out his hand to awake me, when a third wolf darted suddenly at the pony"s hind leg; the frightened little animal swerved, the sledge brought up violently against a pine-tree, and out rolled the pig and I; Gavril and the gun remained in the sledge, which righted itself and went on swiftly as the pony bounded forward in fear. I sprang to my feet and looked after the sledge--it was out of sight in an instant.
At the same moment I became aware that half a dozen or more great grey creatures sat and stood within a few yards of me, looking, with the moon behind them, like dark spectres in a dream. _Was_ I dreaming, I wondered, or was I really standing in mid-forest, the centre of interest to a company of hungry and therefore dangerous wolves? The pig answered the question conclusively enough. He suddenly yelled his loudest, using his very highest note. Then a remarkable thing happened. A wolf, maddened I suppose, by hunger, and unable to resist the temptation of sampling the owner of so vigorous a voice, suddenly sprang upon the sack. In an instant the wretched little creature imprisoned within it was torn into a hundred pieces and swallowed, sack and all. The savoury morsel whetted their appet.i.tes I suppose, for several of the brutes began to steal around, watching for an opportunity to spring upon me. I yelled and waved my arms and kicked my feet; the wolves withdrew a little way; I danced wildly, and yelled again, but they withdrew no further. The situation was obviously very serious.
Then I backed towards a tree, for I did not relish the idea of being surrounded. The moment that I moved a step further from them, each wolf advanced three, growling, showing his teeth, snarling. I caught sight of a piece of wood lying near the road; I picked it up, a wolf sprang forward to dispute possession, and I banged at him and missed; every wolf within sight--I should think there were two dozen by now, two or three of them quite close to me--showed his teeth and snarled again.
I backed for the tree, and had almost reached it when a gaunt beast sprang at me, and actually tore a piece out of the sleeve of my coat. I struck furiously at the brute, and I think broke its leg; he went limping and yelping amongst his companions, and they instantly tore him to pieces. The smell of his blood excited them, and several came leaping and snarling at me; I shouted and struck at them, but they would not retreat; they stood and growled, and licked their lips. How was it going to end, I began to wonder.
Several times a wolf or two wolves attacked me, and I beat them off, but I grew weary, and, what was more disastrous, my nerves began to fail. I realised that I could not keep up this nerve-destroying fight for ever, and Gavril had evidently not dared to return to my a.s.sistance....
Suddenly, when on the verge of collapse, I heard a shout in the distance. I replied with all my strength.
"All right," called Gavril, "I am coming; but it is difficult."
It did not matter now, though Gavril seemed to spend an hour in covering the few hundred yards which lay between us, and I fought desperately on with renewed spirit. Then at length I caught sight of him in the moonlight, coming towards me; he seemed to limp; he stopped, and a shot rang out. Instantly the wolves disappeared as if by magic.
Gavril drew near. "Here, take the gun, Excellency," he said. "I am hurt, I must sit."
I just had time to take the gun out of his hands when Gavril stumbled and fell with a groan. "Oh, my leg!" he muttered, and with the words he fainted.
The poor fellow"s ankle was broken. It had been broken at the first jolt, when I fell out, but he had been unable to free himself from the sledge until, a quarter of a mile away, he had succeeded in pulling up the frightened horse and getting out.
Then he had deliberately walked back the whole way, with his broken ankle causing him agonies at each moment, straight into the midst of a dangerous wolf-pack, in order to bring me the gun and save my life.
"Without, for a moment, wishing to disparage the j.a.panese," Bobby ended, "I think you will agree with me that it would be unfair not to accord the Russians equal honour for pluck and devotion to duty--this particular Russian, at any rate, and I know of many others equally brave."
"Carried _nem. con._," said Vandeleur.
As for Dennison, his contribution to the discussion was a loud and prolonged snore.
WHERE THERE"S A WILL THERE"S A WAY.
A True Story.
Not long ago there lived a n.o.bleman who was noted for his extreme obstinacy and his determination to have his own way. He had arranged one morning to meet a friend of his at a country station. When he got to the station, his friend had not come.
After he had waited some time the train came in; and just then he caught sight of his friend"s carriage driving along at a gallop in the distance. He knew that it would take some five minutes for it to get to the station, and the train was due to start in one minute. So he went to the station-master, and explained to him that his friend was very anxious to catch the train: he asked him if he would be so kind as to stop it till the carriage arrived. The station-master, however, refused to do so, saying that the train was already late.
"We will see about that," retorted the other; and he actually went and sat down between the rails right in front of the engine.
The station-master dared not let the train start, and though he begged the n.o.bleman to get up, the latter refused to move until his friend arrived. While they were arguing the carriage drove up, and his friend got his ticket; and then at last the obstinate old gentleman left his dangerous position, and they went off in the train together. The trick had been successful, though it was a very dangerous and foolish one.
HEART"S-EASE.
There is a little simple flower, Heart"s-ease by name--I know not why; And yet, perchance, it has the power To cause a tear or calm a sigh.
And if a dear one sends to me The tiny flower, I"ll prize it well; For in the token I should see The wish the flower was meant to tell.
And still its faded leaves I"d keep, Although they had no scent to please; Ah, better still! they seem to speak A message, praying my heart"s-ease.
By waters still in sweet spring-time It lifts its sweet, mild gaze to me, While on my ears faint falls the chime Of evening bells across the lea.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
[Ill.u.s.tration: "Mr. Merry, with Tabby in his arms, was just leaving the house."]
TABBY"S GHOST.
All at once the matter was settled. Dr. Whitehead had given his orders--Mother must have change of air at once, and they were all going to Clifton for two months. The house was to be shut up, and in Edith"s heart the question arose, "What shall we do with Tabby?" Tabby was a pleasant, gentle cat, her especial property. "Mother," she said, "might we not take Tabby with us? I could pay her railway fare with the half-crown Aunt Dora gave me. I should like it so much!"
"No, dear, it is quite impossible to do so," replied her mother; "but perhaps Mr. Merry, the milkman, would keep her for you; she would get plenty of milk, and you know she is a good mouser. Mr. Merry would be pleased with that; I have heard him say that his barn is over-run with mice."
"Oh, there he is!" cried Edith; "I will run and ask him at once."
Very soon she returned, smiling and happy. "Mother," she said, "I have given Mr. Merry my half-crown, and he says he will call to-morrow and take Tabby home with him, and keep her as long as we please."
"And so you have no money now," cried Evelyn; "why, you will not be able to buy anything at Clifton."
"Never mind, Edie," said little Ina, kindly, "I will give you a shilling out of my money; but I do think it was very unkind of Mr. Merry to take all that you had; don"t you think so, Mother?"