It was getting dusk. The horses were tiring. We plunged through a deep
drift under the lee of a knoll; and I stopped a few moments to let them
breathe. I knew that stopping was a bad symptom, unless one had a good
reason for it--but I gave myself a good reason. I felt Virginia pulling
at my sleeve; and I turned back the robes and looked at her. She pulled
my ear down to her lips.
"I know you now," she shouted. "It's Teunis!" I nodded; and she squeezed
my arm with her two hands. Give up! Not for all the winds and snows of
the whole of the Iowa prairie! I disarranged the robes while I put my
arm around her for a moment; while she patted my shoulder. Then, putting
tendernesses aside, when they must be indulged in at the expense of snow
in the sleigh, I put my horses into it again. A few minutes ago, I gave
you the thoughts that ran through my mind as I conjured up the image of
one lost in such a storm; but now I thought of nothing--only for a few
minutes after that pressure on my arm--but getting on from moment to
moment, keeping my sleigh from upsetting, encouraging those brave
mares, and peering around for anything that might promise shelter.
Virginia has always told of this to the children, when I was not
present, to prove that I am brave, even if I am mortal slow; and if just
facing danger from minute to minute without looking further, is bravery,
I suppose I am--and there is plenty of good courage in the world which
is nothing more, look at it how you will.
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