"Dress? I have my sabre."
"Put at least your coat on."
The Czar put on his coat, drew the belt which held the sabre some
holes tighter, and sprang at one bound from the platform.
"Now it will come off," whispered Menshikoff to Katherine.
"You have not been lying, Alexander?"
"A few lies adorn one's speech. The chief point is gained.
To-morrow, Katherine, you can sleep quietly in the nursery with
the heirs to the throne."
"Can any misfortune happen to him?"
"No! he never has misfortune."
* * * * *
The Czar ran down to the seashore; he never walked, but always ran.
"Life goes fast," he was wont to say, "and there is much to do."
When he reached the gravel bank he found a boat landing, with five
men and the Dutch prisoner. The latter sat stolidly by the rudder,
and smoked his pipe. But when he saw the Czar, he took off his cap,
threw it in the air, and cried, "Hurrah!"
Czar Peter shaded his eyes, and, when he recognised his old teacher
and friend, Jaen Scheerborck from Amsterdam, he jumped into the boat
over the rowers' shoulders and knees, rushed into Jaen's arms and
kissed him, so that his pipe broke and the seaman's great grey beard
was full of smoke and nearly took fire. Then the Czar lifted the old
man up, and carried him in his arms like a child to the shore.
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