"Oh, how pretty, and how comfortable it looks!"
"You would be surprised to see how fast those horses go when they get into the country," said Mr. Thurber. "This is a troika belonging to a gentleman here in the city, as you may know by the livery. The public troikas are driven by men in the regular istvostchik's dress."
"What do you call this?" I inquired, as we turned out of the Nevsky, and met a pair of horses coming by with a free, airy swing, which was particularly appropriate to the scene.
"That is pristiaka," said our new friend. One horse was trotting, with his head proudly raised, as if he felt that the eyes of the world were upon him; the other was attached by a single rein at the side, and cantered along, with his neck arched and his head turned out. One looked proud and conscious, the other playful and independent. Over the dasher and the horses' backs was spread a colored silk netting, the heavy tassels at the corners dragging in the snow, as we see them on all the private sledges here.
By this time we had reached the Neva, which looked like a great field of snow. We crossed on the ice to Vasili Ostrof, and drew up at the Yankee store. It was well worth a visit, we decided, if only to mark the contrast between the Tsar's capital and a New England village. One side of the room was filled with clocks, which were ticking as only American clocks can tick. These clocks, with lead pencils and canned goods, seemed to be the chief stock in trade. Mr. Thurber
