Peter turned to run from this officer, but slipped and fell. And before he could regain his footing on the hard and slippery snow, the officer came hurrying from the sledge and tripped and fell over the boy—fell flat in the road before the post-house. “Fool!” cried the officer, glaring at Peter. “Get away with you! You dare address Excellence, and now you are in my road!” Peter stood up. The officer struck the boy in the face, and Peter fell again, almost stunned by the blow. He saw the officer’s boots stride away and recognized them as boots which he and his father had made. There was a forest of boots in all directions, and the sound of voices reached Peter’s ears in a confused medley. Peter was ashamed. The blood was flowing from his nose and making a mess on his chin and muffler. The tears which came into his eyes from the pain were freezing on his cheeks and his eyelids were freezing together, making a film through which he could see but dimly. The crowd had drawn away from the sledge now, leaving Peter lying in the dirty snow. Such a sight to make of himself, he thought, in view of Katerin! And how angry she would be to see that he had gotten in the way of the officer and had made him fall down like a clumsy bear. Peter heard the voice of his father calling to him. “Little son! Get up quickly and run! The Governor comes! Do not let the Excellence see you there!” But Peter could not move quickly for his arms and legs seemed strangely stiff and numb and helpless. His father ran out into the open space just as Governor Kirsakoff got out of his carriage to hasten to his little daughter in the sledge. He was a tall man, ruddy of face, with white teeth showing in a smile under black mustaches. He wore a high cap of sable with a badge of the Czar upon it. His longskirted coat of black was lined with fur which stuck out in fringes at the edges, and he wore a belt with silver doubleheaded eagles at the buckle. A scarlet strap depended from one shoulder and crossed his breast, and he wore a saber at his side—a saber with a gold hilt, bearing upon it the initials of his Emperor. Governor Kirsakoff held out his arms toward his daughter as he approached the sledge. The officer who struck Peter was beside the Governor, with watchful eyes for the safety of his chief and the little girl. Peter’s father lifted him to his feet, and Peter brushed the icy film from his eyes. “Get away, you and that boy!” the officer growled as the Governor strode swiftly to the sledge. “The boy meant no harm, Excellence,” said Peter’s father, pulling off his cap and making a deep bow, as he tried to push Peter on before him. “Who is this here?” demanded the Governor, catching sight of Peter and his father, and seeing that the boy’s face was bleeding. Governor Kirsakoff’s smile vanished, and he scowled angrily, sensing something in the nature of a calamity in the presence of his daughter.