“That isn’t such a bad idea, Fred,” called Mr. Marley, who had overheard. “I’ll see if I can turn old Tom and get through the ditch.”
“Easy on the turn,” cautioned Mr. Larue. “The deepest snow is there in the ditch.”
“You’ll tip over!” cried Margy, in alarm. “Do be careful, Mr. Marley!”
Mr. Marley laughed and promised not to tip the sleigh over. He turned the horse’s head toward the ditch and called to him encouragingly. Old Tom merely shook his ears.
“Doesn’t want to try it,” said Mr. Larue. “I’ll see if I can lead him. Here, boy, you’re all right. Come on, that’s a good fellow.”
Talking soothingly to the horse, Mr. Larue took hold of the bridle and pulled gently. The horse pulled also, but the other way.
“He won’t go. Try taking him straight ahead,” Mr. Marley advised. “Look out, Polly—you’re standing in the way.”
Polly took a step backward, lost her balance, and went over full-length into a beautiful snow bank. Her feet, coming up with such startling suddenness were too much for old Tom. With a wild snort he started forward, nearly pulling Mr. Marley from the seat. Plunging and panting, the horse plowed ahead, and in a few minutes had worked his way out of the worst of the drifts.
“Polly! are you all right?” cried Margy, rushing to her chum’s rescue.
“I guess so,” said Polly, a little uncertainly. “Where’s the horse and sleigh?” she asked, in surprise, as Fred and Margy pulled her out and set her on her feet.