It was early summer. Day after day—the sun shining joyously on the rejoicing earth; the happy, free peasants pausing at their labour on the banks of the river to watch the convict-barge go by; the merry sound of church bells ringing—the laughter of girls at the washing platforms—the singing of the larks and the calling of the cuckoo filling the air—day after day, through all this gladness, the terrible load of untold misery sailed up the Volga. Yet this was only one amongst many that would follow in their wake until the winter came. But the day was better far than the night, when they were fastened down below, and the atmosphere in the cabin grew so heavy and polluted they could hardly breathe it. They left the barge, as they had left the train, with the sense of relief which any change in misery brings. There was a short journey by railway again; and then, because there had been a landslip on the line farther on, it was decided that the convoy should take the old route along the Great Siberian Road. The exiles left the train with the idea that the worst lay behind them. For now they would be able to move freely; they would live in the open air, and at present the early summer was full of sweetness and beauty. The country through which they passed was carpeted with gay flowers, and the road led through meadows and forests, along valleys, and over the flanks of mountains. Here and there were village streets stretching for a mile or two along the sides of the road. Cattle were browsing on the common pastureland, and corn was shooting up rapidly under the sunshine, which was growing hotter every day. The cloudless sky above them, and the sweet fresh air breathing softly about them, revived the spirits of Michael and Sergius. This was something like what they had anticipated. Little Clava, too, regained her merry ways in some measure, as the children were free to run where they chose, and pick the flowers, provided they kept up with the convoy. Sometimes the convoy-guards were kindly and indulgent, but when the guards were changed they proved often to be impatient and even brutal men. But as the march was a steady one, and about twenty miles a day, there was not much time for rambling among the flowers, and it was forbidden to lag behind. There were rough, springless carts for carrying the children under twelve, as well as the men and women who were too ill to walk. But little Clava did not ride in the cart. Michael and Sergius said they would carry her on their backs whenever she was tired, along the Great Siberian Road. Tatiania was only too glad to keep her darling by her side.