very odd--the young driver had no reins; he shouted at the dogs
and now and then threw a stick at them, and they quite seemed to
understand, and turned when he wanted them to turn. Lucy wondered
how he or they knew the way, it all seemed such a waste of snow.
They went so fast that at first she was unable to speak; then she
ventured on gasping out, "Well, I've been in an express train, but
this beats it! Where are you going?"

"To Petropawlowsky, to change these skins for coffee, and rice, and
rice," answered the boy.

"What skins are they?" asked Lucy.

"Bears'--big brown bears that father killed in a cave--and wolves'
and those of the little ermine and sable that we trap. We get much,
much for the white ermine and his black tail. Father's coming in
another sledge with, oh! such a big pile. Don't you hear his dogs
yelp? We'll win the race yet! Ugh! hoo! hoo! ho-o-o-o!--On! on!
lazy ones, on, I say! don't let the old dogs catch the young ones!"

Crack, crack, went the whip; the dogs yelped with eagerness,--they
don't bark, those Northern dogs; the little Kamschatkadale bawled
louder and louder, and never saw when Lucy rolled off behind, and
was left in the middle of a huge snowdrift, while he flew on with
his load.

Here were his father's dogs overtaking her; and then some one was
picking her up. No, it was Don! and here was Mrs. Bunker exclaiming,
"Well, if here is not Miss Lucy asleep on Master's old bearskin!"