Then, at length, when their bodies were wearied with the fatigue of constant tramping, and their souls worn out with disappointment, and their hearts sick with hope deferred, there came a day of great joy for Boris and Nancy.

It befell on this wise. They were out, as usual, quartering the forest, and hunting every clump of birch cover and grove of young fir trees, Boris being in front, and Nancy behind on the left, when a cry from his wife caused the hunter to start and look round, fingering his axe, for he knew not what might befall in these dark depths of the forest. Nancy repeated her cry and rushed forwards; and Boris knew at once that it was no cry of terror, but of ecstasy and joy. He too sprang forward to rejoin Nancy, and a wonderful sight met his eye.

There, close before them in an open space between the trees, a huge she-wolf was trotting across the glade, followed by her six cubs, and chasing after the tail of the procession was a tiny human child, hurrying along as fast as it could make way on hands and knees, losing ground, however, rapidly, and crying because it could not keep up with the rest.

With swift inarticulate cries of great joy Nancy rushed open-armed in pursuit, and Boris was not far behind.

The old wolf stopped once, and turned and snarled savagely at Nancy; but its heart failed, and it quickly disappeared among the trees, followed by its four-legged cubs, leaving the little foster-child. Her the true mother, frantic with love and happiness, caught quickly up and hid close in her bosom, bending over it and calling it every sweet name in the English language, and in the Russian also, and cooing and talking nonsense to it.

But the child snapped, and scratched, and growled, and struggled, and fought, as though it were no human child but a very wolf born and bred. So fiercely did it fight and kick out for its freedom that Nancy was obliged presently to set it down, when it instantly made off on hands and knees in the direction taken by its companions.

Boris fairly roared with laughter in the exuberance of his delight to see the child alive and well; and Nancy in her joy could do nothing wiser than laugh also, as they both walked quickly after the little crawling thing, easily keeping up with it, though it went far quicker than they would have believed possible. This time the father picked up the wild tiny creature, and well he got himself scratched for his pains, of which he took no heed whatever. Presently the poor babe, finding that her captor had no intention of hurting her, lay quiescent in his arms, and after a while fell asleep, tired of crying and fighting, and doubtless feeling very comfortable.

Nancy meanwhile walked beside her husband, feeling no ground beneath her feet. All her weariness and her heart-soreness had vanished entirely, and the lines of care which had set themselves upon her face, and caused her to look old and worn in the May-time of her life, had vanished also. She danced and sang as she went, and in all that forestful of gay singers there was none that was so happy as she. And at home, what though the little savage bit and snarled and refused to be fed or washed, and for many hours thought of nothing but how to escape back into the woods—why, a mother's love and care would soon recover it to herself, she said, and she could well afford to wait for a few days longer for her full happiness, she who had waited so long and wearily in tears and sorrow!

As a matter of fact, the faithful Nancy had not to wait very long before matters began to mend. The little wolf-girl soon found that she was well off, and that no one wished to do her hurt. After this it was merely a matter of patience, for the little one became more human, and showed less of the wolf every hour, until, at the end of a week, she permitted herself to be washed and dressed and fed and petted with no more opposition than is generally shown by people of the age of four or five months! What opposition she did make to anything she disapproved of was perhaps more savage than that of most babies; but there the difference ended.

One peculiarity remained for many a day—an intense love of the woods and of the open air generally, as well as a marked taste for scuttling about on hands and knees, which she managed to do at a very great speed considering her size. Nancy was wont to declare that for neither of these characteristics was she indebted to her sojourn among the wolves, but that she simply inherited both her love of the forest as well as her nimbleness from her father. I who write these lines am inclined to believe that her wolfish infancy is a sufficiently good reason for both.

Thus ended happily the most terrible experience that a devoted father and mother could pass through; and if the child was loved before, she was ten times as dear to both parents after her almost miraculous recovery from the very jaws of death. Boris declared that he could never kill another she-wolf unless it were to save his own or another life; and this resolution, I may add, he kept until his dying day.

Thus the months and the years went by at Karapselka in peace and happiness, with but an occasional adventure to break the monotony of such an existence. Boris was perfectly happy; but for all that he was conscious from time to time of a feeling of regret for his old days of activity in the Tsar's service, and of honour fairly won and unfairly lost, and he felt that this fleeting sensation might at any moment strengthen into an irresistible desire and longing to be up and about once more among his fellow-men. This sort of life was all very well for a time, but, after all, it was an inglorious sort of existence, and Boris knew that even his devotion to Nancy and her babies—for she had two now—would not suffice to keep him at Karapselka very much longer, especially if anything should happen to reawaken his old spirit of enterprise, or to bring him again within the magic of the Tsar's presence and favour. Of this last Boris had but little hope, for Peter's displeasure had been too deep for forgiveness; but there were rumours of war with Sweden, which Colonel Drury, who brought the news, said would be a long and terrible struggle if the threatenings came to anything; and Boris in his wanderings through the forest continually found himself turning over in his mind the idea that if war broke out with Sweden he must have a share in the business, ay, even if he enlisted as a soldier of the lowest rank to do it. Had not the Tsar himself started at the very foot of the ladder? then why not he? He was barely twenty-eight; there was plenty of time to carve himself out new honour and a new career with the sword. And if, if he were so fortunate as to gain the notice of the Tsar, by some feat of arms, for instance, or some act of bravery on the battle-field—and the Tsar's eye saw everything, so that it would not escape his notice—who knows? As a new man his beloved master might take him into new favour.

Occupied with these thoughts, Boris walked one winter day through the forest, looking for the tracks of any beast that should have had the misfortune to pass where he too wandered. Suddenly the hunter was pulled up in his reflections, as also in his stride, by a largish footprint in the snow. He knew it at once for what it was—a wolf's; but the experienced eye of Boris knew also at a glance what a less expert woodcraftsman would not have known—namely, that here had passed not one wolf but several, for wolves prefer to tread in one another's tracks, in order to save themselves the trouble of plunging into the snow and out again.

Boris examined the track, and judged that there must have been five or six wolves, at least, travelling in a procession, and also that they must have passed this spot but a very short while ago, for the loose snow-powder still sifted into the holes left by the animals' feet.

The sporting instincts of Boris never required much to arouse them when dormant, and in a moment Boris had forgotten all about the possible Swedish war, and enlistment, and everything else, excepting the fact that here was a family of wolves, and here was he, the hunter, and that the sooner he followed up and engaged those wolves the greater would be his happiness. So away went Boris upon the trail, flying like the wind upon his light Archangel snow-shoes, which are the best in the world, and the use of which Boris understood perhaps better than any man in all Russia.

Before he had gone very far the hunter noticed that the track of a man, without snow-shoes, came into that of the wolves, cross-wise—that is, the wolves had come upon the track of this man, and had turned aside to follow it. "Hungry wolves," said Boris to himself; "going to run in the man's tracks—perhaps to attack him if they get a good chance!" Accordingly Boris hastened on, for he scented fun in this, and his life of late had been terribly lacking in incident.

The tracks meandered about in the most curious way, now heading in one direction, now in another, and at last travelling round in a complete circle and recrossing a point where they had passed before; and wherever the man went the wolves had gone also. "Lost his way," thought Boris. "How frightened the poor fellow must have been when he crossed his own track and saw there were wolves after him!" Then the hunter could see that after crossing the old tracks the wanderer had greatly accelerated his pace. "Frightened," thought Boris; "and small wonder."

Soon there was audible at no great distance a noise of yelpings, such as wolves make when they grow excited in the pursuit of their prey; and Boris rightly concluded that these wolves were very hungry, and not likely to hold back from attacking a single man, unless he should be provided with fire-arms. He had better make all speed, or the matter might end unpleasantly for one of the members of the hunt.

And presently Boris ran suddenly into a stirring sight. There, before him, with his back to a tree, stood a big, kaftaned man, armed with a dagger, keeping at bay as best he could a band of seven wolves, who, to judge by their demeanour, had every intention of pulling him down. If there was one thing in all the world that Boris would have chosen, it was such an enterprise as this. His very soul was athirst for a good slashing fight with man or beast—it was four or five years since he had engaged in a real scrimmage against odds, such as this promised to be; so Boris flourished his axe and rushed into the thick of it with a shout of real exultation. Right and left he slashed, and right and left again, and two wolf-lives had gone out in a moment, while two other gray bleeding creatures crawled yelping and snarling away to die in hiding. Another rush in, and the foe would wait no longer, but turned, and in an instant were skulking away into the forest.

Then for the first time Boris looked up at the man whom he had saved from the unpleasant position of a minute or two ago, and as he raised his eyes the axe fell from his hand, and his heart gave a great bound of surprise and joy, and then stood still.

Of all the men in the world least likely to be met with in this place, of all men in the world that Boris loved the dearest and honoured the most, and most ardently longed to see and to speak to, it was he—the Tsar—Peter!

For a full minute neither spoke. The heart of Boris was too full for words, and his tongue refused to utter sound of any sort. When at length the silence was broken, it was the Tsar who spoke, and his voice seemed to Boris unlike the old boisterous voice of three years ago; it was quieter and a little tremulous.

"Boris," said the Tsar, "this cannot be accident; we are but puppets in the hands of a mightier Power which overrides our puny will and laughs at our dispositions. This is the fourth time, I account it, that you have directly or indirectly stood between me and death; how can I possibly continue to hold aloof from you, my brother?"

At these words all the old love and devotion that Boris had felt for his master completely overcame him, and he fairly flung himself at Peter's knees and hugged them, weeping.

"No, no; get you up, my Bear-eater," said the Tsar, raising him. "It appears to me that we were both somewhat wrong upon a memorable occasion; I have since thought so more than once. And having said this much, I will neither say nor hear another word in respect of those events, which are done with and lie buried in the past. As concerning the present, my Boris, what brought you so miraculously here at the precise moment when you of all men were the most needed? I had you in my mind as you appeared, and had but that instant bethought me that I would you were with me as of old; and at that same instant you came."

Then Boris, his heart bursting with great joy, began to tell the Tsar how that his house was but a few miles away, and that in this same house he and Nancy had dwelt for the last three years. Peter knew nothing of all this, for the name of Boris was never breathed at court since the day of his disgrace, seeing that the Tsar himself never spoke it. Then Peter in his turn explained how he had wandered from his suite in pursuit of a roebuck, but had lost his way; and how he had not thought of danger until he found himself pursued by wolves and armed with but a knife. And both thanked God that Boris and his axe had chanced to wander in the same direction.

Then the pair got to talking of old days and their many adventures together as they walked towards the house; and the Tsar graciously said that now he had found him again, he could only wonder how he had contrived to do without his faithful bear-eater so long, and would Boris, forgetting all that had been unpleasant in the past, return to his service once more, and things should be as they had been at the return from England? And Boris could only weep for joy, and this foolishness was the wisest thing he could find to do.