Five or six hours of driving will make the strongest back
tired, I am told. Mine is not of the strongest. This road
lifted me above the things that I liked to watch.
Invariably, on all these drives, I was to lose interest
here unless the stars were particularly bright and
brilliant. This night I watched the lights, it is true:
how they streamed across the sky, like driving rain that
is blown into wavy streaks by impetuous wind. And they
leaped and receded, and leaped and receded again. But
while I watched, I stretched my limbs and was bent on
speed. There were a few particularly bad spots in the
road, where I could not do anything but walk the horse.
So, where the going was fair, I urged him to redoubled
effort. I remember how I reflected that the horse as yet
did not know we were so near home, this being his first
trip out; and I also remember, that my wife afterwards
told me that she had heard me a long while before I
came--had heard me talking to the horse, urging him on
and encouraging him.
Now I came to a slight bend in the road. Only half a
mile! And sure enough: there was the signal put out for
me.
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