unconcernedly and merrily, and how Ignashka boisterously and bravely shouted at the horses as if we were rolling away to church on a hard-frozen, sunny, rustic road at midday on the "Feast of the Epiphany," and especially terrible it was to think that we were driving continually and driving rapidly nobody knew whither, right away from the place where we were. Ignashka began to sing some song or other, in a villainous falsetto indeed, but so sonorously and with such long pauses, during which he fell a-whistling, that it was strange to feel timid while you listened to him.
"Hie, hie! What a throat you've got, Ignat!" sounded the voice of the Counsellor; "do stop for a bit."
"What?"
"Sto-o-o-op!"
Ignat stopped. Again all was silent, and the wind howled and whined, and the whirling snow began to fall more thickly into the sledge. The Counsellor came to us.
"Well, what is it?"
"What, indeed! Whither are we going?"
"Who knows!"
"Our feet are frozen, eh! why are you clapping your hands?"
"We are quite benumbed."
"And as for you," this to Ignat, "just turn out and stir your stumps and see if there, isn't a Calmuck encampment about here: it will warm up your feet a bit!"
"All right! hold the horses. Now for it."
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