the side of the coach an officer of the Russian mounted police was
riding easily, jangling his accoutrements with a vigor that disheartened
at least one occupant of the vehicle. The windows of the coach doors
were lowered, permitting the fresh mountain air to caress fondly the
face of the young woman who tried to find comfort in one of the broad
seats. Since early morn she had struggled with the hardships of that
seat, and the late afternoon found her very much out of patience. The
opposite seat was the resting place of a substantial colored woman and a
stupendous pile of bags and boxes. The boxes were continually toppling
over and the bags were forever getting under the feet of the once placid
servant, whose face, quite luckily, was much too black to reflect the
anger she was able, otherwise, through years of practice, to conceal.

"How much farther have we to go, lieutenant?" asked the girl on the
rear seat, plaintively, even humbly. The man was very deliberate with
his English. He had been recommended to her as the best linguist in the
service at Radovitch, and he had a reputation to sustain.

"It another hour is but yet," he managed to inform her, with a confident
smile.

"Oh, dear," she sighed, "a whole hour of this!"

"We soon be dar, Miss Bev'ly; jes' yo' mak' up yo' mine to res'
easy-like, an' we--" but the faithful old colored woman's advice was
lost in the wrathful exclamation that accompanied another dislodgment of
bags and boxes. The wheels of the coach had dropped suddenly into a deep
rut. Aunt Fanny's growls were scarcely more potent than poor Miss
Beverly's moans.