Well, Vainka was, as it happened, the first to step out from among the rye-stalks, and he was immediately confronted by two women and a man who ran after him—one getting in front and one on each side. While they were busy with him, however, Natasha and I escaped unnoticed and were able to watch the pursuit of poor Vainka from a position of safety. One of the women had a crawfish net with a long wooden handle. This creature kept calling to the others, "Don't kill him, don't kill him! we'll take him alive!" The others seemed to agree, for they closed in upon poor little Vainka and placed the crawfish net tightly over his head and face, so that, though he fought fiercely and bravely for liberty, he was quite powerless to hurt them. Then they led him away to the village and we saw him no more.
I have seen him often since, however, for his "master" (!) still lives in this village and brings him down from town at certain seasons. Vainka goes to town (St. Petersburg) in order to amuse the people by dancing on his hind legs, pretending to wrestle with his master, and other foolery, and with—I blush to record it—with a ring through his nostrils, to which a chain is attached. Poor dear old Vainka—his spirit is completely broken; he has actually learned to tolerate human-kind, and declares that they only require to be known in order to be appreciated, and that he does not think he could exist now without the applause which his performances call forth from the vulgar brutes of humans who have degraded him. Ugh! it is shameful! He has twice escaped from the village and joined me—but I will, I think, relate these episodes in full, in their proper place in this narrative; for my ursine friends may learn much by a careful consideration of the events, and I should not like to deprive them of the advantage of considering this matter in the light of a thorough and intimate knowledge of the circumstances. Meanwhile, I must relate the sad story of how Natasha and I separated—after, alas! a quarrel. It was after our first winter alone—without mother and the rest, I mean. Natasha and I spent that winter together, in one berloga, for warmth. It was a very uneventful time, for we were not disturbed from November to April, and slept steadily on through all those months. It was then that we realised how dreadfully we must have worried poor dear mother in the preceding year by keeping her awake during that long period when we bears feel as though it were impossible, whatever happened, to rouse ourselves, and would almost sooner die than move. But to continue: when spring came and we sallied forth from our winter quarters, we were both so hungry that positively we could almost have eaten one another. Just outside a village close by, as we were prowling around, hoping to find some sort of food, Natasha taking one side of the village and I the other, I had made my half round without success and was awaiting my sister with some degree of impatience, when I saw a dog issue from one of the huts and trot away across a field. The next instant I heard a yelping and observed Natasha in full pursuit, and scarcely a yard away from the dog's tail. Then they both disappeared behind a hedge, and for a moment the yelping was redoubled, and then ceased altogether. I hurried along to join and congratulate Natasha, as well as to take my share in a dinner which I felt that I required very badly, when suddenly I met Natasha returning.
"Well, where's the dog?" I said—feeling, I know not why, a strange sinking at the heart.
"What dog?" said Natasha, drooping her head a little and averting her face.
"Why, the dog you were hunting a moment ago!" I said.
"Oh, it escaped," said Natasha, who had some whitish fur, which was not her own, sticking to the corner of her mouth.
"Oh—you nearly caught it, I see!" said I.
"Yes, I very nearly caught it," said my sister, her voice dying away to nothing at the end of the sentence.
Well—I believed her, for we had never, as yet, deceived one another to any great extent.
Half an hour afterwards, as we were roaming the woods looking for something solid to eat, I suddenly missed Natasha. I called for her and searched the wood, but all in vain. I therefore left the forest and retraced my steps towards the open fields close, to the village. There, after considerable hunting and much waste of time and temper, I at last came upon my sister, who was just polishing off the last remnants of the carcase of a dog. I fell upon her without a word, for she had deceived me and was unworthy of courtesy at my hands. Up to this time I had always been polite and kind and—in its best sense—brotherly towards Natasha; therefore she was astonished and indignant when I attacked her. I must confess I punished her savagely, for I was very angry and very hungry as well; indeed, I did not leave her alone until I had pretty nearly worried the breath out of her body. When she picked herself up from the grass she made off immediately, without making any remark either of abuse or excuse, and, as I have never set eyes on her since that morning, I conclude that she emigrated to a distant part of the country. I cannot say I was sorry, for I should never have regained that confidence in her which her deceitful conduct on this occasion entirely destroyed, and the relations between us would have been so strained as to render life unpleasant.