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the old nursery formula, "Soldier, sailor, tinker, tailor, apothecary, thief."

During the progress of the repairs, I devote myself to a jar of milk, or as much of it, at least, as the flies are pleased to leave me; for every spoonful is literally black with floating carcasses, till I begin to have a dismal recollection of the western molasses-eater who "swallowed so many flies that his mouth looked jest like a sheet o' close print." Just as my plat aux fines mouches comes to an end, in burst two officers, in whom I recognise Col. B- -, my companion from Fort Perovski, and Capt. P——, whom I had known during my detention at Kazalinsk.

"What, our 'Wandering Christian' again!" shouts the latter, recurring to my already received nickname. "Who'd have thought it? Getting your clothes mended, eh? We all come to that on the road, sooner or later. Handy fellow, that servant of yours; lucky you got him. Where are you bound for now?"

"Tashkent-and I'm off as soon as the horses are ready. Would you like to join me? there's always room for one." "Thanks, I think I shall stay still to-night; I hav'nt had a good sleep since I left Kazalinsk, and it's about time to begin."

"And you, colonel?"

"I'm just starting this minute; but I daresay you'll catch me up on the road, and then we'll go neck and neck; I want to hear some more about Arabia and South America. Have a cigarette? Ah? beg pardon -I forgot you don't smoke!"

"Nor drink either," chimes in Capt. P-, with righteous indignation," and that after travelling so long, too! You'll never be a proper traveller, Mr Ker, till you learn to do both!"

"So much the worse for me, then; for when a man has been five years at a university without learning either to drink or to smoke, he may be said to have lost his last chance in this world!"*

"So I should say, if Moscow and St Petersburg are to be taken as samples," assents the captain, with a broad grin. "But come, you must have some white bread and fruit with us, at all events. We've got plenty of both."

The good fellows produce their stock of provisions, and we make an al fresco supper at the door of the post-house, under the declining sunlight. Meanwhile my Tartar, having finished his tailoring, goes off in search of a Cossack who has offered to sell him a gun, and returns in triumph, half an hour later, to display his purchase a huge, rusty, lumbering affair, suggestive of a pre-historic post-pillar, and, like Captain Do'emwell's "trade muskets," warranted to kill three men at a shot —the firer himself and his right and left hand neighbour.

By the time we get off it is already dark, and for the first hour or two we go along at haphazard, through a

* This must not be interpreted into a skit upon Oxford. I bear as warm a heart as ever to my old university, and I am glad to learn that it has not quite forgotten me.

When the moon

blackness like the inside of a tunnel.
at length condescends to rise, it shows us great masses
of dark thicket on either side of the road, in which a
whole army might lie ambushed; and whether it is that
this idea occurs to Mourad and myself at the same
moment, or that the possession of his newly-bought
weapon suggests visions of battle, it is certain that,
towards midnight, he begins to wake up surprisingly,
and to look about him as sharply as if expecting an
attack every minute.

"Mourad!"

"What is it, master?"

"Suppose we were to be attacked (and it's a good place for it here), would you fight?”

"I have been a soldier, David Stepanovitch, though I never saw a battle yet; but if there's any fighting to be done, I'll stand by you."

His voice sounds firm enough; and, indeed, there is as little of the "white feather" about Mourad as about any man in whom the old Tartar blood is still strong. But at that moment, as if to put his courage to the proof, a tremendous crash is heard a little way ahead of us, and then flashes of light glance among the trees, and there is a sound of scuffling, and a deep guttural voice swearing frightfully, and a high, clear one shouting lustily for help.

"Is this a fight, master?"

"Sounds like it, my lad. Out with that gun of yours, and come along. I've got my revolver."

We jump off the cart, and scamper towards the scene

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of action, guided by the shouts, which, as we approach, seem to me to have a familiar tone in them. Bursting through the bushes, we catch sight of a tall white figure, which seems to be struggling violently with some one or something which we cannot distinguish.

"Who's there? This way, quick?"

"What is it?-robbers?"

"No; we've got stuck fast in the thicket, and upset, and the driver's hurt himself upon a stump. Lucky for me you came up when you did. Just help me to get the horses up, will you?"

At this moment a stray gleam of moonlight falls through the trees full upon the speaker's face, and I recognise Colonel B, whose prophecy of my catching him upon the road has come true sooner than he expected.

NOTE. These overturns are of such constant occurrence, that few travellers by post think of starting without a spare shaft, or at least a rope and a piece of wood, in case of accident. Both the Russian and Kirghiz drivers are very skilful in contriving these "makeshifts." On my return journey from Samarcand, my left wheel came off in a lonely place at midnight, several miles from Khodjent, and, within ten minutes at most, the damage was repaired, and we were going as fast as

ever.

Q

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE THINGS THAT WERE.

By the light of the colonel's lantern we set cart and horses upright again; while the driver, having luckily fallen on his head, is not a whit the worse, except a gash across the place where his forehead ought to be. But a very slight examination suffices to show us the grand compound smash which the cart has sustained on its left side; and there is nothing for it but to cut a branch from the nearest tree, produce a coil or two of rope, and resolve ourselves into a committee of repairs. Thus do I find myself engaged in a complicated job of carpentering at one in the morning, in the heart of an Asiatic jungle, with a Russian, a Kirghiz, and a Tartar to make up the party.

But all comes right in the end, though not without considerable labour. The colonel and I get back into our respective carts, and the word is given to go forward again-keeping together in accordance with my friend's suggestion.

"This break-down won't matter a bit for me," he remarks, philosophically, "because I can change my cart at the next station; and it won't matter for you either, because you'll go all the easier from having me with

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