Just after breakfast Jamie Duncan announced that he and Geordie, the orra man, were going off to the fields to get up a “fordle” (large supply) of “neeps” (turnips) for the cattle before the storm became deeper and rendered it impossible.
“I’ll go too,” said Sandie determinedly.
“And I also,” put in Willie.
Willie would not be denied; so half-an-hour afterwards four brave young fellows were busy in the turnip-field. To pull the turnips with the hands was, of course, impossible. They had to be dragged up with a curious kind of fork, whose toes were claws. It is called in Aberdeenshire a “pluck.”
But so well and manfully did they work, that, with the assistance of the light cart and the orra beast, before one o’clock the “fordle” was secured, and as many turnips stored in the shed as would last the cattle for three weeks’ time at least.
It cleared up in the afternoon, and Sandie got out a pair of real skis,[4] or snowshoes, that a cousin of his had brought him from Norway some years ago. He was quite an adept on these, and the speed with which he went skidding over the snow-clad fields was truly marvellous.
It seemed so easy, too; so, of course, Willie must beg to be allowed to try.
“You’ll find them a bit awkward at first,” said Sandie. “In about a week you might master them.”
Willie got them on, or rather he got fastened on to them.
His first sensation on trying to move was that his feet were tied like those of a hen going to market; his second, that he had dislocated both ankles; his third, that he had broken his neck in the heap of snow into which he had tumbled.