"Get out of the way, Stubb," he cried, mounting with all despatch.
Miss Primrose's admirer gathered himself up, regained his hat, which had taken refuge in a puddle, and looked with horror at a ghastly white rent across his knee. Morton spurred his hack against the barrier, which the beast cleared with difficulty, striking his hind hoofs as he went over. After riding a short distance, he discovered Fanny, and saw, to his great relief, that she was regaining control over her horse. Half a mile farther on, the road divided. The larger branch led to the right, Morton did not know whither; the smaller turned to the left, and after circling through the woods for two or three miles, issued upon the high road. Fanny, who was ignorant of the way, took the right hand branch. In a few minutes after, she had brought her horse to a trot, and Morton rode up to her side.
"You are wiser than I am, if you know where we are going."
"I thought you knew the way. You were to have been our guide."
"We are on the wrong road. You should have turned to the left."
"But have you no idea where this will lead us?"
"Into a cedar swamp, for what I know. Had we not better turn back?"
"O, don't speak of turning back. I am in no mood for turning back. Let us keep on. I am sure this will bring us out somewhere."
"As you please," said Morton, knowing himself to be in the position of an angler, whose only chance of managing his salmon is to give it line.
"Where are all the rest?"