turned in, to preserve the head from the cold--three
shirts, a sheepskin bournouse, and a red velvet cap bordered with
fur--the dress of a well-to-do peasant. On a sharp frosty night he
quitted Ekaterinski for Tara, having determined to try the road to the
north for Archangel, as the least frequented. A large fair was shortly
to be held at Irbit, at the foot of the Urals, and he hoped to hide
himself in the vast crowd of people that frequented it. Soon after he
had crossed the river a sledge was heard behind him. He trembled for
his safety--his pursuers were perhaps coming.

"Where are you going?" shouted the peasant who drove it.

"To Tara."

"Give me ten sous, and I will take you."

"No; it is too much. I will give eight."

"Well, so let it be. Jump in quickly."

He was set down in the street; and knocking at a house, inquired in
the Russian fashion--"Have you horses to hire?"

"Yes--a pair. Where to?"

"To Irbit. I am a commercial traveler, and going to meet my master. I
am behind my time, and wish to go as quickly as possible."

No sooner had they set off than a snow-storm came on, and the driver
lost his way. They wandered about all night in the forest, and it was
impossible to describe the anguish and suffering Piotrowski endured.

"Return to Tara," said he, as the day broke; "I will engage another
sledge; and you need not expect any money from me, after the folly you
have shown in losing your way."

They turned, but had hardly gone a mile before the driver jumped up,
looked around, and cried--"This is our road." Then making up for lost
time, he set him down at a friend's house, where he procured some tea
and fresh horses. On he went in safety, renewing his horses at small
expense, until late at night, when he suffered from a most unfortunate
robbery. He had not money at hand to pay the conductor. They turned
into a public-house, where a crowd of drunken people were celebrating
the carnival. He drew out some paper-money to get change, when the
crowd coming round, some one seized his papers, among which were
several rouble notes, his invaluable passport, and a note in which he
had minutely inscribed all the towns and villages he must pass through
on the road to Archangel. He was in despair. The very first day, a
quarter of his money was gone, and the only thing by which he hoped to
evade suspicion, his passport. He dare not appeal to the police, and
was obliged to submit.

Regret and hesitation were