after a little discussions as to seats and the safety of the girls (all
of which seemed to me wholly superfluous), they settled themselves in
the vehicle, opened their parasols, and started. As the carriage was,
driving away, Mamma pointed to the hunter and asked nervously "Is that
the horse intended for Vladimir Petrovitch?" On the groom answering
in the affirmative, she raised her hands in horror and turned her head
away. As for myself, I was burning with impatience. Clambering on to
the back of my steed (I was just tall enough to see between its ears), I
proceeded to perform evolutions in the courtyard.

"Mind you don't ride over the hounds, sir," said one of the huntsmen.

"Hold your tongue, It is not the first time I have been one of the
party." I retorted with dignity.

Although Woloda had plenty of pluck, he was not altogether free from
apprehensions as he sat on the hunter. Indeed, he more than once asked
as he patted it, "Is he quiet?" He looked very well on horseback--almost
a grown-up young man, and held himself so upright in the saddle that I
envied him since my shadow seemed to show that I could not compare with
him in looks.

Presently Papa's footsteps sounded on the flagstones, the whip collected
the hounds, and the huntsmen mounted their steeds. Papa's horse came up
in charge of a groom, the hounds of his particular leash sprang up from
their picturesque attitudes to fawn upon him, and Milka, in a collar
studded with beads, came bounding joyfully from behind his heels to
greet and sport with the other dogs. Finally, as soon as Papa had
mounted we rode away.