ng 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.
Lucy wondered how he or they knew the way, it all seemed such a waste of
snow; and after feeling at first as if the rapidity of their course
made her unable to speak, 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 whisky and coffee, 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! hoo-o-o!--On! on! lazy ones, on, I say! don't
let the old dogs catch the young!"

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; picking her--some one
picking her up. No, it was Don! and here was Mrs. Bunker exclaiming,
"Well, I never thought to find Miss Lucy in no better a place than on
Master's old bearskin!"

CHAPTER X.

THE TURK.

"WHAT a beautiful long necklace, Mrs. Bunker! May I have it for
Lonicera?"

"You may play with it while you are here, Missie, if you'll take care
not to break the string, but it is too curious for you to take home and
lose. It is what they call a Turkish rosary; they say it is made of
rose-leaves reduced to a paste and squeezed ever so hard together, and
that the poor ladies that are shut up in the harems have little or
nothing to do but to run them through their fingers."

"It has a very nice smell," said Lucy, examining the dark brown beads,
which hung rather loosely on their string, and letting them fall one by
one through her hands, till of course that ha