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Read Ebook: Little Paulina: Christmas in Russia by Robinson Anna Adapter Clarke Mary Cowden
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Ebook has 206 lines and 10833 words, and 5 pages
Contributor: Anna Robinson
Little
Paulina
Christmas in Russia
ADAPTED FROM MARY COWDEN CLARKE BY ANNA ROBINSON
BOSTON DANA ESTES & COMPANY PUBLISHERS
LITTLE PAULINA
LITTLE PAULINA: CHRISTMAS IN RUSSIA
It was nearing the close of a short winter's day,--the day before Christmas. Thickly fell the snow, fiercely keen blew the northern wind, heaping the drifts into crannies and gullies, and then whirling them far and wide. The fir-trees were all behung with wreaths of sheeted white, that the next blast flung abroad in scattered showers. The sky lowered above all, gray, cheerless, and hopeless, as a man--setting his teeth hard, and facing the inclemency as he best might--cast his eyes up toward the heavens, and then looked around him, with an air that bespoke his having lost his way amid the solitudes of the pine forest.
He might have been a denizen of the place, for the coarseness and even squalor of his clothing. The rough tunic and cloak of sheepskin, the bearhide gloves, and wolfskin cap befitted the meanest serf. But for all his peasant garb, it was clear he was a stranger in this part of the country.
With one more perplexed look about him, he suddenly shouted aloud. The sound seemed dulled and deadened by the damp, frozen air and the curtained canopy of overhanging trees.
His voice seemed shut in, like himself, within the confines of this dreary wood prison. Yet once again he shouted,--once again sent forth an appealing cry for aid,--if it might be that human aid was near. And then--amid the gloom and silence--there came an answering sound,--a cry high-pitched, but dulled by distance and by seeming lack of power in the shouter.
The man turned his steps in the direction of the response he had heard, calling loudly. It was repeated, and evidently drew nearer. Just then he emerged from among the thickest of the trees, into a more open space, a sort of pathway leading through the forest.
Along this track he could now see, coming toward him, a small, dark figure, muffled in fur. It looked like a black bundle, more than a human being. The head was enveloped in a dark sheepskin cap, that fitted so closely around the face as to show only eyes, nose, and mouth. The body was wrapped in a cloak, and the lower limbs were encased in thick leggings and boots. Except that the head and shoulders were plentifully sprinkled with snow, and the small patch of face looked bright and rosy, the whole seemed a moving ball, of coarse, dark, furry stuff.
But the rosy patch looked cheerily. The dark leggings stumped along with an alert, assured step; and it was evident that from this small muffled individual came the high-pitched cry that had answered the man's call for help.
The man hastened to meet the child, saying:--
"Well met, little one! Direct me out of this wood. Be my guide. You doubtless know every winding of the forest path."
"I am a stranger in these parts," the child answered. "I came from the capital. I live in Kief--that is, I did live there. I am going to find a home with my father."
"And where is your father?" said the man.
"They banished him--he's in exile--I am going to him," she replied.
"Going to him! Do you know how far it is to the frozen regions whither culprits are banished, little one?" asked the man.
"Yes; I know it is a long way off--but I have managed to come nearly a fourth of my journey, and I shall get through the rest, never fear."
"'Never fear!' But don't you fear? It's a long way, and a fearful place when you get there."
"I know it is; but if it's bad for me, it's bad for my father,--and it will make the place better for him if he have his little Paulina with him, to help him bear its fearfulness."
"I am not speaking of what it is to him. It would be more tolerable to him, I dare say, with his child to keep him company there; but what I mean is, that it will be a terrible place for you--you don't know its horrors."
"Oh, yes, I do. They told me of them when he was banished. They tried to prevent my going after him, but I got away. I made my escape--I crept out of the house--I watched my opportunity--I managed to get past the sentinels at the city gates--I have made my way, by little and little. I shall reach there, never fear." And she nodded with an assured air, as she repeated the last words.
The man shook his head. "You don't know the place you are so eager to reach, my little maid," he said.
"I dare say it's very dreadful; but, however bad it may be, home is worse now,--without my father."
"And who is your father?" said the man.
The child was just about to answer in her prompt, straightforward way; but she caught the earnest, scrutinizing look of the stranger, as his eye rested upon her, while he asked the question. She checked herself, and said: "Didn't you say you had lost your way in this forest? Do you live far from here?"
An odd smile passed over the man's face, as he answered: "Yes; very far. I have wandered among the depths of this forest till I'm perishing with cold, and starving with hunger. I want food and shelter. How far distant is the next village?"
"They told me it was some miles on," said the child. "But I'll tell you what I'll do for you. Instead of taking you on with me there, I'll turn back with you, to the good woman at whose hut I slept last night. She gave me a night's lodging, and I dare say she'll do as much for you. She has a kind heart."
The same smile passed over his face, as the man replied: "If you present me to her as your friend,--an unfortunate fellow who has lost his way,--I have no doubt she will take me under her roof. And, truly, in this snow-storm, the sooner food and warmth may be had, the better. But in securing them for me, you are hindering your journey, little one. Shall you not grudge the delay?"
"It will be but a few hours. You need my help. If I turn out of my way to give it you, my journey afterward will prosper the better," she said. "My father would approve of it."
"Your father is a worthy man, then?"
"You seem to doubt it!" said the child, turning a flashing eye up toward the speaker.
"If he be so,--and his teaching his child charity and kindliness of conduct speaks in his favor,--how comes it that the emperor banished him?" returned the man.
"The emperor was made to believe unjustly of my father. Enemies misrepresented his actions. My father was too proud to vindicate himself to his sovereign, even had he had the opportunity of pleading his own cause."
Again the man smiled, and then fell into a reverie, while his young conductress took him by the hand, and led him along the path by which she had come. After a time she looked up into his face, and, seeing its dreamy expression, said: "You are feeling sleepy, are you not? Beware of that!"
"I do find myself drowsily inclined," said the man. "The cold--the long fast--the many hours' wandering--I own I shall be glad of a moment's rest, little one. Let us stop here a few minutes."
And he would have leaned against the trunk of one of the nearest trees skirting the forest track; but the child exclaimed vehemently,--tugging at his hand: "No, no! you must not rest. Anything but that! Rouse yourself! Come on, come on! Here, take me up in your arms, and carry me for a little way. The exertion will do you good, and the warmth of my body will help to unnumb you. Lift me up; be quick!"
The man laughed, but obeyed her peremptory order. There was such an air of decision in all she said and did,--as if it were the only right thing to be said or done,--that it was difficult to resist her commands. In the present instance, the course she had appointed was certainly the best that could have been hit upon for averting the threatened danger.
The effort of raising her helped the man to throw off the overpowering sensation of drowsiness that was fast seizing upon him; and when she was in his arms, she nestled close to him, and hugged him around the neck. She was a slight child of her age, so that she was not inconveniently heavy; yet, had she been even heavier, the man, though unaccustomed to bear such weights, would have willingly gone on carrying her.
"Do you know, I have just such a little girl of my own,--a little daughter,--perhaps a year or two younger than you, with whom I was going to spend the Christmas Day, when, owing to an accident, I became lost in the forest. I should like my little girl to thank you for your care of her father. I wish she could see you. What say you to coming with me to my home, and making friends with her?"
"I should like it very much; but you live far from here, and I must not let anything interfere with my journey to my father."
"But my home--at least, the place where my little girl now is--lies all in your way. You must pass it going to your father. We'll journey together, as far as we can. Our first concern is, to get back to your friendly peasant woman's hut, recruit our strength, and afterward to devise some means of getting on. Perhaps she can provide us with a guide."
"Trust to me, I'll guide you," said the child.
He laughed but made no reply.
"Now you've got over your drowsiness, you can set me down again," she resumed.
"But you'll be glad of the lift. You must be tired," said the man; "and I don't mind carrying you, if it rests you."
"Oh, I'm not at all tired. I've learned to walk a good long way, now, without wanting to rest. Set me down, please. It will do us both good to be in sharper exercise. Here, let's run! It'll warm us. Come! One, two, three, and away!"
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