"hunter's horse" and asked the coachman with a quivering voice:
"Is this horse for Vladímir Petróvich?"
When the coachman answered in the affirmative, she waved her hand and turned away. I was in great impatience. I mounted my pony, looked between its ears, and made all kinds of evolutions in the yard.
"Please not to crush the dogs," said a hunter to me.
"Have no fear, this is not my first time," answered I, proudly.
Volódya seated himself on the "hunter's horse" not without a certain trembling, in spite of the firmness of his character, and, patting it, asked several times:
"Is it a gentle horse?"
He looked very well on a horse, just like a grown person. His tightly stretched thighs lay so well on the saddle that I was envious, because, as far as I could judge by the shadow, I did not make such a fine appearance.
Then papa's steps were heard on the staircase. The dog-keeper collected the hounds that had run ahead. The hunters with their greyhounds called up their dogs, and all mounted their horses. The groom led a horse up to the veranda. The dogs of father's leash, that had been lying before in various artistic positions near the horse, now rushed up to him. Mílka ran out after him, in a beaded collar, tinkling her iron clapper. Whenever she came out, she greeted the dogs of the kennel; with some of them she played, others she scented or growled at, and on others, again, she looked for fleas.
Papa mounted his horse, and we started.
