houlder,
said, "Well, then, I _do_ say the word: you're a corporal from this day
forth, and a right good one you'll make. If I can find another man as
smart as you, I'll make him a sergeant."

Two or three months after this adventure, Suvoroff and his army were
down on the Lower Danube, keeping watch over the Turks, in the middle of
the hardest winter that had been known in that country for many a year.
But of course, being Russians, they didn't mind _that_ much, and
Suvoroff went about in the snow and the frost as if he didn't know what
cold was.

Well, one bitter night in the beginning of January, the old General was
making the round of the camp, as usual, to see that his sentinels were
all keeping good watch at the outposts, when suddenly he came upon a
sentry who seemed to have got the coldest place of all, for he was right
down upon the bank of the river, with the cold wind blowing through him
as if it would cut him in two.

"Good-evening, brother," said the General, speaking as if _he_ were only
a common soldier too.

"Good-evening," answered the sentinel, pretending not to know him,
although he had recognized the General's voice in a moment.

"Plenty of stars out to-night," went on Suvoroff, looking up at the
frosty sky. "Can you tell me how many of them there are altogether?"

"Just wait a bit, and I'll count," said the soldier, quite coolly. And
forthwith he began: "One, two, three, four, five, six," and so on, as if
he were never going to leave off.

At first Suvoroff was rather amused at his smartness; but he soon found
the game getting much too cold to be pleasant, for he was in his usual
light dress, while the sentry at least had on a good thick frieze coat.
Keener and keener blew the bitter night wind, till the poor old General
felt as if he should never be warm again. For a while he bore up
manfully, hoping the soldier would get tired and leave off; but when the
man got up to a thousand, and was still counting away as if he meant to
keep it up all night, Suvoroff could stand it no longer.

"What's your name, my fine fellow?" asked he, as well as his chattering
teeth would let him.

"Vasili [Basil] Pushkin,"[1] answered the soldier, "private in the
Seventh Foot."

"Very good," said the Marshal; "I won't forget you. Good-night."

The next morning Pushkin was sent for to the General's quarters; and
Suvoroff, turning to his staff officers, said:

"Gentlemen, here's a man whom I tried to fool la