The old man made us stay to dinner; but then he hurried us off, that we
might be over The Mountains before dark.

The air was chilly when we started, and a few snow-flakes were flying.
But we had everything to make us comfortable. The old horse always
stepped quick, going home; the wind was in our favor; our chaise had a
boot which came up, and a top which tipped down. We should soon be home.
There is nothing very bad, after all, in being sent for a girl you never
saw!

And we were not two dummies. She was willing to do her part in talking,
and I could always hold my own, if no more.

She seemed, in conversation, not at all like a "little young thing,"--so
that I kept turning round to see if the look of the child Margaret was
still in her face. Oh, how that face played the mischief with me! And
in more ways than one.

We were speaking of large families; I had told her about ours. All at
once she exclaimed at a big rock ahead, which overhung the road.

The moment I placed my eye on it, I turned the horse's head.

"Wrong road," said I.

The horse had turned off, when I wasn't minding, and was taking us to
Cutler's Mills. We tried several ways to set ourselves right by a short
cut, but were finally obliged to go all the way back to where we turned
off. In a summer day this would only have been lengthening out a
pleasant ride. But the days were at the shortest. Snow-flakes fell