Supper at Karapselka that night was a happy meal for Boris and his wife, though Nancy, as a matter of fact, preserved her secret private opinion as to the rights and wrongs of the quarrel over the Streltsi, and did not altogether forgive Peter for his conduct at that time. But Boris was happy in his restoration to the Tsar's favour—that was enough for Nancy to think of to-night; and the Tsar was certainly all kindness and cordiality and friendship towards her husband. And so the evening was a right joyous one to herself as well as to Boris.

Peter declared that now he was here he should stay and have one more hunt with his bear-eater before returning to Moscow. As for his suite and their feelings, they deserved a lesson for their awkwardness in losing their master in the forest. They might roam the woods in search of him all night and to-morrow morning as well. If one or two of the lazy hounds were eaten by wolves, so much the better; there would be vacancies for better men!

Accordingly, arrangements were made for the Tsar to sleep at Karapselka, and Nancy went upstairs to prepare the best bed and the most luxurious coverings and decorations that the house afforded. And an extremely good piece of work she made of it; for Nancy was a young person of some taste in these matters. But when the Tsar was shown, with pride, to his chamber, the very first thing he did was to gather all these Turkish coverings and Persian silk draperies and fineries together and pitch an armful of them outside the door; after which he dragged the hardest of the mattresses from the bedstead, laid it upon the floor, and slept upon it.

In the morning, Tsar and hunter had a great spin on snow-shoes. They found a lynx track, which was great good luck, Boris said, for lynxes are rare; and following it for miles, they eventually came so close upon the animal's heels that it was forced to run up a tree to avoid being caught and killed from behind. No shaking of the tree from below could bring the lynx to the ground, and it appeared that the animal must either be shot in the tree or fetched down by hand—which is an exceedingly unpleasant process, and not to be recommended to the amateur.

"Now, Boris," said the Tsar, "shall it be you or I? We are both fairly good at climbing the rigging!" But the hunter could not think of a Tsar of Russia climbing a pine tree after a lynx, and was half-way up before the words were well out of Peter's mouth.

The lynx looked down the tree and up the tree, and ran up a little higher, till the top of the pine bent with its weight like a fishing-rod. Then it looked at the next tree, which was the better part of ten yards away; and glared down at Boris, and hissed like a great cat at bay to a dog. Suddenly the creature jumped straight for the nearest tree, and alighted fairly upon an outstanding branch; but, alas, the branch was a dead one, and broke with the weight, and down came the lynx with a thud to the earth close to the feet of the Tsar. Down came Boris also, almost as rapidly, and he and the Tsar threw themselves upon the animal almost at the same instant.

Though stunned with its fall, the infuriated lynx, which vies with the tiger for ferocity when at bay, instantly seized the Tsar by the leg—the imperial limb being clad, luckily for the imperial feelings, in thick Russian thigh-boots—whereupon Peter caught the animal's neck with one great hand, and deftly passed his knife across its yellow throat with the other. The sharp teeth loosened their hold of the leather hunting-boots, the terrible claws relaxed, the wicked, yellow-green eye grew slowly dim, and the lynx lay dead at Peter's feet.

The Tsar was as pleased as a schoolboy with his success, and together he and Boris skinned the creature as a memento of the exploit.

Afterwards, as the pair strolled together through the woods, the talk fell upon politics and the projects of Peter. War was certain and imminent, the Tsar said; Poland had joined with him in an engagement to drive the Swede out of the Baltic.

"Only think of it, my Bear-eater," said Peter, "the Baltic!—ports, Boris, seaports! How we shall fight for our windows. If it takes us a score of years, we shall have them!"

The Tsar spoke more prophetically than he knew of; for those ports were won indeed, but the final winning of them actually did cost Russia twenty years of fighting by sea and land, so stubborn was the struggle.

Then came the question as to what part Boris should play in these weighty projects which were so soon to be embarked upon; and at this point the hunter's exultation received a check, for Peter spoke as though it must be taken for granted that Boris would recommence his career at the foot of the ladder—he must enlist. That, the Tsar explained, was indispensable; for he could not stultify himself by taking Boris back straight into all the ranks and dignities of his former position. What would the rest of the officers of the Preobrajensk think? Yes, Boris must enlist.

Boris looked foolish, but said nothing. For the life of him, he could not tell whether the Tsar was pleased to joke with him or was serious.

"I am only a major myself, you know," continued Peter, "and I cannot have officers admitted into the regiment at a grade senior to my own; that would delay my promotion."

"Very well then, your Majesty," said Boris, simply because he could think of nothing else to say, "then I enlist."

"Come, come, then," said Peter, "we've made a start. I congratulate you, Mr. Private-soldier Boris Ivanitch, and may your promotion be speedy!"

Boris began to think that the Tsar was scarcely treating an old friend very generously. He grinned, however, weakly, because there was nothing else to do, and said he was "much obliged."

"Let me see," Peter continued, after a pause; "was it you or was it another who saved me from an old she-bear at Archangel some years since?"

Boris began to fear for the Tsar's reason, but he replied,—

"It was I, your Majesty; but then you had befriended me a few days before, so that we were quits for that."

"What! the bear you ran away from? Dear me! yes; so I did. Well, well, never mind that. As I was about to observe, in consideration of the service you did me on that day, I think you might be allowed a step in rank—say a corporal. You are promoted, Mr. Corporal!"

"I am extremely obliged," said poor Boris, bewildered.

"Who was it behaved rather well that afternoon when the pack of wolves attacked us?" asked Peter, with perfectly-assumed seriousness, a minute or two later. "Was it you or old Ivan the driver?"

"Oh, Ivan, your Majesty," said Boris, nettled at the Tsar's levity.

"Ah, modest as usual!" said the Tsar. "But it won't do, Boris; you must be promoted, whether you like it or not! Sergeant of the Preobrajensk, I congratulate you!"

"Thank you, your Majesty; but surely I have already received all the recognition those services deserved, for you rewarded me well at the time with many favours."

"Well, now, there's a good deal in what you say," said Peter, still quite serious, "and perhaps you are right. Your promotion, Mr. Sergeant Boris Ivanitch, should, properly speaking, follow some signal achievement of the present time, and not be awarded for services long past. Now, see what I have in my mind. You were a good jumper in the old days; I daresay you are stiffer now, for want of practice. Here I lay my cap on the ground: for every foot you can jump beyond the distance of five yards, you shall have a step in rank. There, now, that's fair enough; only don't jump yourself into a major-general, for I have too many of them on my hands already."

"Come, come!" thought Boris, "if the Tsar is in this playful mood, I'm his man!" So the hunter stripped off his kaftan and laid aside his heavy long-boots, and chose a spot where the snow was hard enough to bear him running over it, and stood ready to jump for his rank and position in life.

"Three jumps," said the Tsar, "and I'll measure the best. My foot is just an English foot, without the boot."

Boris girt up his loins, took a good run, and launched himself into space. But he was stiff, and barely cleared the five-yard mark planted by the Tsar.

"Only just got your commission," Peter remarked. "That won't do; you must leap better than that."

At the second attempt Boris cleared a foot and a half over the mark.

"Better!" said the Tsar; "but leap well up for your last!"

This time the hunter, who was getting into the way of it now, sprang so lightly and powerfully that the Tsar ran up excitedly to measure the distance. As he placed his feet down one behind the other, measuring, he ticked off the promotions thus:—

"Sub-lieutenant, lieutenant, captain, major, and a bit—say brevet lieutenant-colonel. Bravo, bravo, Colonel Bear-eater, 'tis a good jump—nineteen and a half feet—and it has landed you one grade above me! A good jump indeed!" And so pleased was the Tsar with his pleasantry, that he caused Boris's commission to be made out endorsed with all these promotions, "for special service."

Boris found great changes in Moscow. As he and the Tsar reached the western gate of the city, the hunter was immensely surprised to observe hanging upon a large post what at first sight appeared to be a human being, but which proved, on closer inspection, to be a suit of clothes such as he had seen worn in London by the people of the country. Written underneath the clothes, in large letters that all might read, was a notice to the effect that it was the Tsar's will that all his subjects above the rank of peasant should wear clothes of a cut similar to the suit here represented. Any who left or arrived in the city by any gate thereof, at any time after the 1st January 1700, without having previously complied with this ookaz, should be condemned to pay a heavy fine, or submit to have their kaftans cut short to the knee by the gatekeeper.

Peter informed his companion that most people had quietly submitted to the change, but that there were still many who would neither wear the new clothes nor pay the fine which would be payable at each passing through the gates of the city, whether leaving or returning; and that these men went with kaftans cut short to the knee, to the huge delight of the people.

Boris saw the gatekeeper in the act of cutting down a kaftan; and certainly the appearance of the obstinate gentleman who wore it was funny enough to justify the amusement which it caused to the yelling and hooting crowd who watched him leave the place. Boris laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, as he stood with the Tsar and looked on at the comedy; nor did he stop laughing until the Tsar jogged him by the elbow and said, "Come, Bear-eater, your turn; will you pay up or be cut short?" Then Boris laughed no more, but paid up with the best grace he could.

And this was the Tsar's method of teaching his people the way to dress À l'Anglais. Boris noticed, further, that beards were no longer worn in Moscow, and found that this also was the result of an ookaz from Peter, which ookaz cost Boris himself a very fine specimen of a patriarchal Russian beard; indeed, when he rode down next day to Karapselka, poor Nancy did not recognize him in his new style of apparel and without the flowing ornament to his chin, though she was bound to admit, when she became used to them, that both the changes were great improvements to his personal appearance.

The officers of the Preobrajensk greeted Boris as one returned from the grave. He had always been a favourite with his fellows, and their delight to have him back among them was cordial and sincere. From them Boris learned that the Tsar's evil humour had lasted for long months after the hunter's banishment from Moscow; and that his bitterness against Boris must have been deep indeed, for that he had never once mentioned the name of the bear-hunter in all the three years of his absence. Accordingly, they congratulated him the more sincerely upon his return to favour; and when Boris described to the mess, or rather to the assembled officers at the favourite eating-house, where his return was celebrated, how he had literally jumped from non-commissioned rank to that of brevet lieutenant-colonel, they fairly roared with laughter in their delight, for, they said, the Tsar must be quite coming round again to his old status quo ante Streltsi, and they had not heard of so "Peterish" an action on his part for many a long day.

So, at last, after three years of quiet life in exile at Karapselka, Boris was restored to favour, and entered once more upon an active military career. For the next three or four years he enjoyed many opportunities of distinguishing himself in arms, and of engaging in the kind of stirring adventure which his soul loved; for, a few months after his arrival, with Nancy and her babies, in his new Moscow home, war was declared with Sweden, and the entire army lately raised by Peter and carefully drilled by himself and his trusted veteran officers at Preobrajensk, together with the four old regiments raised by Lefort and Peter for the siege of Azof, marched away for the Swedish fortress of Narva, and with them went Boris the Hunter.