“Hadn’t you better do something for the horse? It is apparently trying to hang itself—and I almost wish it would. It deserves to succeed.”
Clavering could have done very little by himself, but in another minute Hetty was kneeling on the horse’s head, while, at more than a little risk from the battering hoofs, he loosed some of the harness. Then, the Badger was allowed to flounder to his feet, and Clavering proceeded to readjust his trappings. A buckle had drawn, however, and a strap had burst.
“No,” said Hetty sharply. “Not that way. Don’t you see you’ve got to lead the trace through. It is most unfortunate Larry isn’t here.”
Clavering glanced at Miss Schuyler, and both of them laughed, while Hetty frowned.
“Well,” she said, “he would have fixed the thing in half the time, and we can’t stay here for ever.”
Clavering did what he could; but repairing harness in the open under twenty or thirty degrees of frost is a difficult task for any man, especially when he has no tools to work with and cannot remove his mittens, and it was at least twenty minutes before he somewhat doubtfully announced that all was ready. He handed Miss Schuyler into the sleigh, and then passed the reins to Hetty, who stood with one foot on the step, apparently waiting for something.
“I don’t think he will run away again,” he said.
The girl glanced at him sharply. “I am vexed with myself. Don’t make me vexed with you,” she said.
Clavering said nothing, but took the reins and they slid slowly down into the hollow, and, more slowly still, across the frozen creek and up the opposite ascent. After awhile Hetty touched his shoulder.
“I really don’t want to meddle; but, while caution is commendable, it will be dark very soon,” she said.