“I’ll get you out, my boy; and then at least you will be able to move about a little.”
I heard him shovelling at the snow with his hands and feet.
“I have got to the corner of the stack, and as well as I can judge you must be just round it,” he said.
“Your voice is close to me,” I answered.
“I’ve got a hold of one of the mare’s ears,” he said next. “I won’t try to get her out until I get you off her.”
I put out my hand, and felt along the mare’s neck. What a joy it was to catch my father’s hand through the darkness and the snow! He grasped mine and drew me towards him, then got me by the arm and began dragging me through the snow. The mare began plunging again, and by her struggles rather assisted my father. In a few moments he had me in his arms.
“Thank God!” he said, as he set me down against the peat-stack. “Stand there. A little farther. Keep well off for fear she hurt you. She must fight her way out now.”
He went back to the mare, and went on clearing away the snow. Then I could hear him patting and encouraging her. Next I heard a great blowing and scrambling, and at last a snort and the thunder of hoofs.
“Woa! woa! Gently! gently!—She’s off!” cried my father.
Her mother gave one snort, and away she went, thundering after her. But their sounds were soon quenched in the snow.