"
"It's dreadful to think of him flying through the air on a night like
this," said she.
"My good woman," returned my father, "we know nothing about where or
how the departed spirit exists after it has left the body. But it
seems to me just as dreadful to be without God in the world, as to be
without him anywhere else. Let us pray for him that God may be with
him wherever he is."
So saying, my father knelt down, and we beside him, and he prayed
earnestly to God for the old man. Then we rose, mounted our horses,
and rode away.
We were only about halfway home, when the clouds began to cover the
moon, and the snow began to fall. Hitherto we had got on pretty well,
for there was light enough to see the track, feeble as it was. Now,
however, we had to keep a careful lookout. We pressed our horses, and
they went bravely, but it was slow work at the best. It got darker and
darker, for the clouds went on gathering, and the snow was coming down
in huge dull flakes. Faster and thicker they came, until at length we
could see nothing of the road before us, and were compelled to leave
all to the wisdom of our horses. My father, having great confidence in
his own little mare, which had carried him through many a doubtful and
difficult place, rode first. I followed close behind. He kept on
talking to me very cheerfully--I have thought since--to prevent me
from getting frightened.
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