‘Have you any horses?’ ‘Where are they to go?’ ‘To the fair at Irbite.’ ‘Yes, we have some.’ ‘A pair?’ ‘Yes, a pair.’ ‘How much a verste?’ ‘Eight kopeks.’ ‘I won’t give so much; say six kopeks.’ ‘What can we say? Done! Presently.’ In a few minutes the horses were ready and put to a sledge. ‘Where do you come from?’ they asked me. ‘From Tomsk: I am a clerk of N----’ (I named somebody), my principal has gone on before me to Irbite; but, you see, I had to stay behind for some little affairs of my own, and now I am horribly late, and I am afraid my chief will be angry; if you will drive quickly you shall have something for yourself.’ The peasant whistled, and the horses went off like an arrow. Suddenly the sky became overcast, and a heavy snow falling, the peasant not only lost his way but could not find it again. After having wandered about in many wrong directions, we were obliged to halt and pass the rest of the night in the forest. I pretended to be furiously angry, and my driver, full of excuses, began to ask my pardon. I shall not attempt to describe the agony of that night, passed as it was sitting in a sledge, in the middle of a snow storm, and at the distance of at most four leagues from Ekaterinski-Zavod: at every moment I seemed to hear the bells of the _kibitkas_ that were in full pursuit of me. At last the day began to redden in the east. ‘Now, go back to Tara,’ I said to the peasant; ‘I will take another sledge there, and you, you fool! shall not have a farthing, and I will hand you over to the police for having made me lose my time in this way.’ The countryman, much abashed, turned to go back to Tara, but hardly had we gone a verste when he stopped, looked all round, and pointing out some traces of a road under the heap of snow, he cried: ‘There is the road we ought to have taken!’ ‘Get on, then,’ I said, ‘and thank God!’