ose-colored fringed pinks, and
other familiar wild flowers which reminded us of the western hemisphere.

The days were too brief for our delights. In the afternoons and
evenings, we took breezy gallops through the forests, along the boundary
sward of the fields, across the rich black soil of that third of the
land which, in the "three-field" system of cultivation, is allowed to
lie fallow after it has borne a crop of winter grain, rye, and one of
summer grain, oats. We watched the peasants plowing or scattering the
seed-corn, or returning, mounted side-saddle fashion on their horses,
with their primitive plows reversed. Only such rich land could tolerate
these Adam-like earth-scratchers. As we met the cows on their way home
from pasture, we took observations, to verify the whimsical barometer of
the peasants; and we found that if a light-hued cow headed the
procession the next day really was pretty sure to be fair, while a dark
cow brought foul weather. As the twilight deepened, the quail piped
under the very hoofs of our horses; the moon rose over the forest, which
would soon ring with the howl of wolves; the fresh breath of the river
came to us laden with peculiar scents, through which penetrated the
heavy odor of the green-black hemp.

One day the horses were ordered, as usual. They did not appear. The
cavalryman who had been hired expressly to train them had not only
neglected his duty, but had run away, without warning, to reap his own
little field, in parts unknown. He had carefully observed silence as to
its existence, when he was engaged. This was item number one. Item
number two was that there was something the matter with all the horses,
except Little Boy, Little Bird, and the small white Bashkir horse from
the steppes, whose ear had been slit to subdue his wildness. The truth
was, the steward's young son had been practicing high jumping, bareback,
in a circus costume of pink calico shirt and trousers, topped by his
tow-colored hair. We had seen this surreptitious performance, but
considered it best to betray nothing, as the lad had done so well in the
village school that our hosts were about to send him to town, to
continue his studies at their expense.

The overseer, another soldier, was ordered to don his uniform and
accompany us. He rebelled. "He had just got his hair grown to the square
state which suited his peasant garb, and it would not go with his
dragoon's uniform in the least. Why, he would look l