As benefits forgot;
Tho’ thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.—Shakspeare.
A wild and wintry night, in a wild and wintry scene! The old turnpike road running through the mountain pass, lonely at the best times, seemed quite deserted now.
The old Scotch toll-gate keeper sat shivering over his blazing hickory wood fire, and listening to the dashing rain and beating wind that seemed to threaten the destruction of his rude dwelling.
His old wife sat near him, spinning yarn from a small wheel that she turned with the united action of hand and foot.
“Ugh!” shuddered the old man, as a blast fiercer than ever shook the house, “it ’ill ding down the old dwelling next, and no harm done! An it were once blown away, the company would behoove to build us anither strong enough to stand the storms o’ these parts. Hech! but it’s awfu’ cold.”
“Pit anither log on the fire, gudeman. Wood’s plenty enough, that’s a blessing,” said the old woman, without ceasing to turn her wheel.
“Wha’s the use, Jenny? Ye’ll no warm sic an old place as this. Eh, woman, but whiles my knees are roasting, my back is freezing.”