"It doesn't seem probable," said father.
"Father don't you think it means there's been some big mistake, and it takes so much to tell how it can be fixed?"
"It seems reasonable."
I gripped him tighter, and maybe shook him a little.
"Father!" I cried. "Father, doesn't it just look HURRY, all over? Can't you speed up a little? They have all day to cool off. Oh father, won't you speed a little?"
"That I will!" said father. "Get a tight hold, and pray God it is good word we carry."
"But I prayed the one big prayer to get this," I said. "It wouldn't be sent if it wasn't good. The thing to do now is to thank the Lord for 'all his loving kindnesses,' like mother said."
"Drive father! Make them go!"
At first he only touched them up; I couldn't see that we were getting home so fast; but in a minute a cornfield passed like a streak, a piece of woods flew by a dark blur, a bridge never had time to rattle, and we began to rock from side to side a little. Then I gripped the top supports with one hand, the mail with the other, and hung on for dear life. I took one good look at father.
His feet were on the brace, his face was clear, even white, his eyes steely, and he never moved a muscle. When Jo thought it was funny, that he was loose in the pasture, and kicked up a little behind, father gave him a sharp cut with the whip and said: "Steady boy! Get along there!"