“Prince X. never pays for these relays,” I declared boldly.

“Oh, no, he does n’t,” replied the man, with cheerful frankness.  “But you must, or I’ll not go.”

That settled it; I capitulated once more.

We had omitted to telegraph to our friends, partly in order to save them the trouble of sending a carriage, partly because we were thirsting for “experiences.”  It began to look as though our thirst was to be quenched in some degree, since we were in this man’s power as to a vehicle, and it might be true that we should not be able to obtain any other in the town, or any horses in the villages, if indeed there were any villages.  Fortified by another volley of “Yay Bogu” of triumphant fervor, we survived a second wait.  At last, near nine o’clock, we were able to pack ourselves and our luggage.

The body of our tarantas, made, for the sake of lightness, of woven elm withes, and varnished dark brown, was shaped not unlike a baby carriage.  Such a wagon body costs about eight dollars in Kazan, where great numbers of them are made.  It was set upon stout, unpainted running-gear, guiltless of springs, in cat’s-cradle fashion.  The step was a slender iron stirrup, which revolved in its ring with tantalizing ease.  It was called a pletuschka, and the process of entering it resembled vaulting on horseback.

Our larger luggage was tied on behind with ropes, in precarious fashion.  The rest we took inside and deposited at our feet.  As there was no seat, we flattened ourselves out on the clean hay, and practiced Delsartean attitudes of languor.  Our three horses were harnessed abreast.  The reins were made in part of rope; so were the traces.  Our yamtschik had donned his regulation coat over his red shirt, and sat unblenchingly through the heat.  All preliminaries seemed to be settled at last.  I breathed a sigh of relief, as we halted at the posting-house to pay our dues in advance, and I received several pounds of copper coin in change, presumably that I might pay the non-existent relays.

The troika set off with spirit, and we flattered ourselves that we should not be long on the road.  This being a county town, there were some stone official buildings in addition to the cathedral, of which we caught a glimpse in the distance.  But our road lay through a suburb of log cabins, through a large gate in the wattled town fence, and out upon the plain.

For nearly five hours we drove through birch forests, over rolling downs, through a boundless ocean of golden rye, diversified by small patches of buckwheat, oats, millet, and wheat.  But wheat thrives better in the adjoining government, and many peasants, we are told, run away from pressing work and good wages at hand to harvest where they will get white bread to eat, and return penniless.

Here and there, the small, weather-beaten image of some saint, its face often indistinguishable through stress of storms, and shielded by a rough triangular penthouse, was elevated upon a pole, indicating the spot where prayers are said for the success of the harvest.  Corn-flowers, larkspur, convolvulus, and many other flowers grew profusely enough among the grain to come under the head of weeds.