"Put my coat collar higher, please," said Helen to her husband as they neared the outskirts of the town. Quick driving had made her feel the cold air more keenly.
"Will that do?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied. "It keeps the wind out. These hot bricks for the feet are delightful. What a glorious day for a ride! But look at that big snow bank right in front of us! Bateese! don't upset us, please!"
"Bateese nevare upset. Et is only de dreef," returned the Frenchman, and with a crack of his whip he circled around the sloping end of the bank as the other drivers had done before him.
It was not so nearly an upset as Helen imagined, but she breathed more freely when the huge pile of snow was behind them.
"Do we meet many drifts like that?" she asked a little timidly, for it was her first experience.
"Oh! dat is noting," replied Bateese, tossing his head; "but dere is a great big wan, high as yer head, right on de slope by de beeg hill, jess befor' you cam to de lumber camp—Gar—he be a fine wan."
And the habitant cackled and cracked his whip again.
"Still we can pass it all right?" said Harold.
"Nevare can tell," returned Bateese, shrugging his shoulders. "It ees on de end of a heel, where two winds meet—an 'eet may be flat as de diable in de mornin'—an' so big at night dat you couldn't see ovare de top if you was ten feet high."