Boris fairly roared with laughter in the exuberance of his delight to see the child alive and well; and Nancy in her joy could do nothing wiser than laugh also, as they both walked quickly after the little crawling thing, easily keeping up with it, though it went far quicker than they would have believed possible. This time the father picked up the wild tiny creature, and well he got himself scratched for his pains, of which he took no heed whatever. Presently the poor babe, finding that her captor had no intention of hurting her, lay quiescent in his arms, and after a while fell asleep, tired of crying and fighting, and doubtless feeling very comfortable.
Nancy meanwhile walked beside her husband, feeling no ground beneath her feet. All her weariness and her heart-soreness had vanished entirely, and the lines of care which had set themselves upon her face, and caused her to look old and worn in the May-time of her life, had vanished also. She danced and sang as she went, and in all that forestful of gay singers there was none that was so happy as she. And at home, what though the little savage bit and snarled and refused to be fed or washed, and for many hours thought of nothing but how to escape back into the woods—why, a mother's love and care would soon recover it to herself, she said, and she could well afford to wait for a few days longer for her full happiness, she who had waited so long and wearily in tears and sorrow!
As a matter of fact, the faithful Nancy had not to wait very long before matters began to mend. The little wolf-girl soon found that she was well off, and that no one wished to do her hurt. After this it was merely a matter of patience, for the little one became more human, and showed less of the wolf every hour, until, at the end of a week, she permitted herself to be washed and dressed and fed and petted with no more opposition than is generally shown by people of the age of four or five months! What opposition she did make to anything she disapproved of was perhaps more savage than that of most babies; but there the difference ended.
One peculiarity remained for many a day—an intense love of the woods and of the open air generally, as well as a marked taste for scuttling about on hands and knees, which she managed to do at a very great speed considering her size. Nancy was wont to declare that for neither of these characteristics was she indebted to her sojourn among the wolves, but that she simply inherited both her love of the forest as well as her nimbleness from her father. I who write these lines am inclined to believe that her wolfish infancy is a sufficiently good reason for both.
Thus ended happily the most terrible experience that a devoted father and mother could pass through; and if the child was loved before, she was ten times as dear to both parents after her almost miraculous recovery from the very jaws of death. Boris declared that he could never kill another she-wolf unless it were to save his own or another life; and this resolution, I may add, he kept until his dying day.
Thus the months and the years went by at Karapselka in peace and happiness, with but an occasional adventure to break the monotony of such an existence. Boris was perfectly happy; but for all that he was conscious from time to time of a feeling of regret for his old days of activity in the Tsar's service, and of honour fairly won and unfairly lost, and he felt that this fleeting sensation might at any moment strengthen into an irresistible desire and longing to be up and about once more among his fellow-men. This sort of life was all very well for a time, but, after all, it was an inglorious sort of existence, and Boris knew that even his devotion to Nancy and her babies—for she had two now—would not suffice to keep him at Karapselka very much longer, especially if anything should happen to reawaken his old spirit of enterprise, or to bring him again within the magic of the Tsar's presence and favour. Of this last Boris had but little hope, for Peter's displeasure had been too deep for forgiveness; but there were rumours of war with Sweden, which Colonel Drury, who brought the news, said would be a long and terrible struggle if the threatenings came to anything; and Boris in his wanderings through the forest continually found himself turning over in his mind the idea that if war broke out with Sweden he must have a share in the business, ay, even if he enlisted as a soldier of the lowest rank to do it. Had not the Tsar himself started at the very foot of the ladder? then why not he? He was barely twenty-eight; there was plenty of time to carve himself out new honour and a new career with the sword. And if, if he were so fortunate as to gain the notice of the Tsar, by some feat of arms, for instance, or some act of bravery on the battle-field—and the Tsar's eye saw everything, so that it would not escape his notice—who knows? As a new man his beloved master might take him into new favour.
Occupied with these thoughts, Boris walked one winter day through the forest, looking for the tracks of any beast that should have had the misfortune to pass where he too wandered. Suddenly the hunter was pulled up in his reflections, as also in his stride, by a largish footprint in the snow. He knew it at once for what it was—a wolf's; but the experienced eye of Boris knew also at a glance what a less expert woodcraftsman would not have known—namely, that here had passed not one wolf but several, for wolves prefer to tread in one another's tracks, in order to save themselves the trouble of plunging into the snow and out again.
Boris examined the track, and judged that there must have been five or six wolves, at least, travelling in a procession, and also that they must have passed this spot but a very short while ago, for the loose snow-powder still sifted into the holes left by the animals' feet.
The sporting instincts of Boris never required much to arouse them when dormant, and in a moment Boris had forgotten all about the possible Swedish war, and enlistment, and everything else, excepting the fact that here was a family of wolves, and here was he, the hunter, and that the sooner he followed up and engaged those wolves the greater would be his happiness. So away went Boris upon the trail, flying like the wind upon his light Archangel snow-shoes, which are the best in the world, and the use of which Boris understood perhaps better than any man in all Russia.
Before he had gone very far the hunter noticed that the track of a man, without snow-shoes, came into that of the wolves, cross-wise—that is, the wolves had come upon the track of this man, and had turned aside to follow it. "Hungry wolves," said Boris to himself; "going to run in the man's tracks—perhaps to attack him if they get a good chance!" Accordingly Boris hastened on, for he scented fun in this, and his life of late had been terribly lacking in incident.