KAMSCHATKA.
Lucy had been disappointed at not having a drive with the reindeer,
and she had been telling Don how useful his relations were in other
places. Behold, she awoke in a wide plain, where, as far as her eye
could reach, there was nothing but snow. The few fir-trees that
stood in the distance were heavily laden; and Lucy herself,--where
was she? Going very fast? Yes, whisking over the snow with all
her might and main, and muffled up in cloaks and furs, as indeed
was necessary, for her breath froze upon the big muffler round her
throat, so that it seemed to become as hard as a stone wall; and by
her side was a little boy, muffled up quite as close, with a cap, or
rather hood, casing his whole head, his hands gloved in fur up to
the elbows, and long fur boots. He had an immense long whip in his
hand, and was flourishing it, and striking with it--at what? They
were an enormous way off from him, but they really were very big
dogs, rushing along like the wind, and bearing along with them--what?
Lucy's ambition--a sledge, a thing without wheels, but gliding
along most rapidly on the hard snow; flying, flying almost fast
enough to take away her breath, and leaving birds, foxes, and
any creature she saw for one instant, far behind. And--what was
very odd--the young driver had no reins; he shouted at the dogs
and now and then threw a stick at them, and they quite seemed to
understand, and turned when he wanted them to turn. Lucy wondered
how he or they knew the way, it all seemed such a waste of snow.
They went so fast that at first she was unable to speak; then she
ventured on gasping out, "Well, I've been in an express train, but
this beats it! Where are you going?"
"To Petropawlowsky, to change these skins for coffee, and rice, and
rice," answered the boy.
"What skins are they?" asked Lucy.
"Bears'--big brown bears that father killed in a cave--and wolves'
and those of the little ermine and sable that we trap. We get much,
much for the white ermine and his black tail. Father's coming in
another sledge with, oh! such a big pile. Don't you hear his dogs
yelp? We'll win the race yet! Ugh! hoo! hoo! ho-o-o-o!--On! on!
lazy ones, on, I say! don't let the old dogs catch the young ones!"
Crack, crack, went the whip; the dogs yelped with eagerness,--they
don't bark, those Northern dogs; the little Kamschatkadale bawled
louder and louder, and never saw when Lucy rolled off behind, and
was left in the middle of a huge snowdrift, while he flew on with
his load.
Here were his father's dogs overtaking her; and then some one was
picking her up. No, it was Don! and here was Mrs. Bunker exclaiming,
"Well, if here is not Miss Lucy asleep on Master's old bearskin!"