Page:More Tales from Tolstoi.djvu/55

The Snowstorm held the reins in both hands as a lacquey does who sits on the box behind the coachman and, above all, I did not believe in him because his ears were tied round with a cloth. In a word, I did not like the look of him, and that serious hunched back of his bobbing up and down before me boded no good.

"In my opinion it would be better to turn back," said Alec; "it is no joke to get lost."

"My little master, you see what sort of driving it is: no road to be seen, and your eyes all bunged up!" growled the driver.

We hadn't gone a quarter of an hour when the driver stopped the horses, gave the reins to Alec, clumsily disengaged his legs from their sitting position and, trampling over the snow in his big boots, went to try and find the road.

"I say, where are you?" I cried, "have we gone astray, or what?"

But the driver did not answer, me and turning his face in the opposite direction to that in which the wind was blowing—it had cut him in the very eyes—went away from the sledge.

"Well, what is it?" I asked when he had turned back again.

"Nothing at all," said he with sudden impatience and anger, as if it was my fault that he had lost the road, and slowly thrusting his big boots into the front part of the sledge again, he slowly grasped the reins together with his frozen mittens.

"What shall we do?" I asked when we had again moved forward.

"Do? Why, go whither God allows us!" And on