The
man, who knew me, offered to lend me another pair, which
I promptly accepted. We pulled the cutter out backwards,
straightened the harness, and hitched the horses up again.
It was clear that, though they did not seem to be injured,
their nerves were on edge.
The farmer meanwhile enlightened me. I mentioned the name
of the man who had recommended the road. Yes, the road
was good enough from town to town. This was the only bad
drift. Yes, my adviser had passed here the day before;
but he had turned off the road, going down to the river
below, which was full of holes, it is true, made by the
ice-harvesters, but otherwise safe enough. The boy would
go along with his lantern to guide me to the other side
of the drift. I am afraid I thought some rather uncharitable
things about my adviser for having omitted to caution me
against this drift. What I minded most, was, of course,
the delay.
The drift was partly hollow, it appeared; the crust had
thawed and frozen again; the huge mass of snow underneath
had settled down. The crust had formed a vault, amply
strong enough to carry a man, but not to carry horse and
cutter.
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