One runner was up—one down. The sleigh stuck fast at an angle of about thirty degrees. Faith clung to the upper side.
Here was a situation! What was to be done? Twilight coming on—no help near—no way of getting anywhere!
"Faith," said Mr. Gartney, "what have you got on your feet?"
"Long, thick snow boots, father. What can I do?"
"Do you dare to come and try to unfasten these buckles? There is no danger. Major can't stir while I hold him by the head."
Faith jumped out into the snow, and valorously set to work at the buckles. She managed to undo one, and to slip out the fastening of the trace, on one side, where it held to the whiffletree. But the horse was lying so that she could not get at the other.
"I'll come there, father!" she cried, clambering and struggling through the drift till she came to the horse's head. "Can't I hold him while you undo the harness?"
"I don't believe you can, Faithie. He isn't down so flat as to be quite under easy control."
"Not if I sit on his head?" asked Faith.
"That might do," replied her father, laughing. "Only you would get frightened, maybe, and jump up too soon."