THE COSSACK.
[Illustration: While he jerked out his arms and legs as if they were
pulled by strings.
_Page 102._]
CAPER, caper; dance, dance. What a wonderful dance it was, just as if
the little fellow had been made of cork, so high did he bound the moment
he touched the ground; while he jerked out his arms and legs as if they
were pulled by strings, like the Marionettes that had once performed in
the front of the window. Only, his face was all fun and life, and he did
look so proud and delighted to show what he could do; and it was all in
clear, fresh, open air, the whole extent covered with short green grass,
upon which were grazing herds of small lean horses, and flocks of sheep
without tails, but with their wool puffed out behind into a sort of
bustle or _panier_. There was a cluster of clean, white-looking houses
in the distance; and Lucy knew that she was in the great plains called
the Steppes, that lie between the rivers Volga and Don, and may be
either in Europe or Asia, according as you look at an old map or a new.
"Do you live there?" she asked, by way of beginning the conversation.
"Yes; my father is the hetman of the Stantitza, and these are my
holidays. I go to school at Tcherkask most part of the year."
"Tcherkask! Oh, what a funny name!"
"And you would think it a funny town if you were there. It is built on a
great bog by the side of the river Volga; all the houses stand on piles
of timber, and in the spring the streets are full of water, and one has
to sail about in boats."
"Oh! that must be delicious."
"I don't like it as much as coming home and riding. See!" and as he
whistled, one of the horses came whinnying up, and put his nose over the
boy's shoulder.
"Good fellow! But your horses are thin; they look little."
"Little!" cried the young Cossack. "Why, do you know what our little
horses can do? There are not many armies in Europe that they have not
ridden down, at one time or another. Why, the church at Tcherkask is
hung all round with Colours we have taken from our enemies. There's the
Swede--didn't Charles XII. get the worst of it when he came in his big
boots after the Cossack?--ay, and the Turk, and the Austrian, and the
German, and the French? Ah! doesn't my grandfather tell how he rode his
good little horse all the way from the Volga to the Seine, and the good
Czar Alexander himself gave him the medal with 'Not unto us, but unto
Thy Name be the praise'? Our father the Czar does not think so little of
us and our horses as you do, young lady."
"I beg your pardon," said Lucy; "I did not know what your horses could
do."
"Oh, you did not! That is some excuse for you. I'll show you."
And in one moment he was on the back of his little horse, leaning down
on its neck, and galloping off over the green plain like the wind; but
it seemed to Lucy as if she had only just watched him out of sight on
one side before he was close to her on the other, having whirled round
and cantered close up to her while she was looking the other way. "Come
up with me," he said; and in one moment she had been swept up before him
on the little horse's neck, and was flying so wildly over the Steppes
that her breath and sense failed her, and she knew no more till she was
safe by Mrs. Bunker's fireside again.