But I had not a thought of fear. To be with
my father was to me perfect safety. He was in the act of telling me
how, on more occasions than one, Missy had got him through places
where the road was impassable, by walking on the tops of the walls,
when all at once both our horses plunged into a gulf of snow. The more
my mare struggled, the deeper we sank in it. For a moment I thought it
was closing over my head.
"Father! father!" I shouted.
"Don't be frightened, my boy," cried my father, his voice seeming to
come from far away. "We are in God's hands. I can't help you now, but
as soon as Missy has got quieter, I shall come to you. I think I know
whereabouts we are. We've dropped right off the road. You're not hurt,
are you?"
"Not in the least," I answered. "I was only frightened."
A few moments more, and my mare lay or rather stuck quiet, with her
neck and head thrown back, and her body deep in the snow. I put up my
hands to feel. It rose above my head farther than I could reach. I got
clear of the stirrups and scrambled up, first on my knees, and then on
my feet. Standing thus upon the saddle, again I stretched my hands
above my head, but still the broken wall of snow ascended above my
reach. I could see nothing of my father, but I heard him talking to
Missy. My mare soon began floundering again, so that I tumbled about
against the sides of the hole, and grew terrified lest I should bring
the snow down.
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