When Turka arrived at the little clearing where the carriage was halted he took Papa’s detailed instructions as to how we were to divide ourselves and where each of us was to go (though, as a matter of fact, he never acted according to such instructions, but always followed his own devices).  Then he unleashed the hounds, fastened the leashes to his saddle, whistled to the pack, and disappeared among the young birch trees the liberated hounds jumping about him in high delight, wagging their tails, and sniffing and gambolling with one another as they dispersed themselves in different directions.

“Has anyone a pocket-handkerchief to spare?” asked Papa.  I took mine from my pocket and offered it to him.

“Very well, Fasten it to this greyhound here.”

“Gizana?” I asked, with the air of a connoisseur.

“Yes.  Then run him along the road with you.  When you come to a little clearing in the wood stop and look about you, and don’t come back to me without a hare.”

Accordingly I tied my handkerchief round Gizana’s soft neck, and set off running at full speed towards the appointed spot, Papa laughing as he shouted after me, “Hurry up, hurry up or you’ll be late!”

Every now and then Gizana kept stopping, pricking up his ears, and listening to the hallooing of the beaters.  Whenever he did this I was not strong enough to move him, and could do no more than shout, “Come on, come on!” Presently he set off so fast that I could not restrain him, and I encountered more than one fall before we reached our destination.  Selecting there a level, shady spot near the roots of a great oak-tree, I lay down on the turf, made Gizana crouch beside me, and waited.  As usual, my imagination far outstripped reality.  I fancied that I was pursuing at least my third hare when, as a matter of fact, the first hound was only just giving tongue.  Presently, however, Turka’s voice began to sound through the wood in louder and more excited tones, the baying of a hound came nearer and nearer, and then another, and then a third, and then a fourth, deep throat joined in the rising and falling cadences of a chorus, until the whole had united their voices in one continuous, tumultuous burst of melody.  As the Russian proverb expresses it, “The forest had found a tongue, and the hounds were burning as with fire.”

My excitement was so great that I nearly swooned where I stood.  My lips parted themselves as though smiling, the perspiration poured from me in streams, and, in spite of the tickling sensation caused by the drops as they trickled over my chin, I never thought of wiping them away.  I felt that a crisis was approaching.  Yet the tension was too unnatural to last.  Soon the hounds came tearing along the edge of the wood, and then—­behold, they were racing away from me again, and of hares there was not a sign to be seen!  I looked in every direction and Gizana did the same—­pulling at his leash at first and whining.  Then he lay down