“It doesn’t look very tempting,” I replied.
“Oh, don’t judge by the present,” said Uncle, “we are all sleeping like bears in their holes. We don’t really wake up till the spring.”
“Yes, like bears,” said Nicholas. “Every nation tends to take the characteristics of the animals amongst which it lives; the Russians are like bears, the Indians are like snakes, the Irish like pigs, the Australians like kangaroos, the English like cows.”
“Nonsense,” said Uncle; “the Russians are like eagles, the English like lions—eh?”
I agreed—the Russians were as much like eagles as the English like lions.
“There aren’t any eagles in Russia except in the Caucasus,” said Nicholas.
“Yes, that’s the place to go to, the Caucasus, full of bears,” said Uncle.
I laughed and pointed out that I was going to Moscow first, there to finish the winter. The summer was a long way off and I could foresee nothing. But it was probably during this talk that it first occurred to me to go to the Caucasus and tramp the mountains there. Moscow, however, was the idea that forced itself upon my consideration, for as soon as this Little-Russian visit was completed I intended to go thither.
In the forest we met the village moujiks, all engaged in cutting timber and loading sledges, and Uncle amused himself and us by feats of log-lifting. He was very proud of his strength.
