“Not so fer. I’ll turn down th’ next lane, and then to the right, and there’s my place. There’s a back road what runs from my farm to your woodland. I kin go that way and drive you up to your barn by a wood-cutter’s road,” explained Amity.
“Well, I hope you won’t find any worse roads than this is, when we turn into that lane,” was Mrs. James’ reply. But the words were disconnected because of the incessant bouncing of the buckboard along the dried mud and over large stones imbedded in it.
Rachel had to cling with both hands to the small iron handle at the side of the board seat, but she fared better than the two in the back seat, as she was too heavy to be easily moved; and the driver’s seat was stationary, whereas the second seat slid dangerously up and down the shallow grooves into which its side-feet fitted loosely. The side on which Rachel sat sagged at least ten inches lower than on Mrs. James’ side, and the latter found it necessary to balance herself on her left hip to retain any sort of seat whatever.
They had travelled a mile of this sort of roadway when Cherub, the horse, of his own accord, turned in at a gap in the old rail fence and approached a carelessly-kept farm and dilapidated house. This private road was far worse than the one they just left, but Mrs. James and her companions expressed no impatience over it.
Then they came to what might have been a very picturesque stream, had the banks on both sides been kept in order. The only visible bridge over this water was composed of enough loose planks to give passageway for wagons or cattle. These old planks were not secured in any way, and moved threateningly when anything came in contact with them.
On both sides of this crude bridge the rains had washed out the dirt from under the planks, so that deep ruts formed. And just before reaching this rut, on the side of approach by the vehicle, was a huge boulder that thrust up its jagged head from the very middle of the rough roadway.
Amity had known of this obstruction in the road for a long time, but he was too lazy to remove this menace. He had always managed to guide the horse so that the wheels just managed to clear the rock. Sometimes, with a heavy load on the buckboard, the flooring would scrape along the top of the stone, but a little nerve-racking thing like that never phased Amity.
This time, however, Cherub was in a great hurry to get his feed, which he was sure would be awaiting him in the barn, so he failed to respond to the usual hard yank on the reins. The consequence was, one fore-wheel struck sharply in the middle of the boulder, and brought the buckboard to an unexpected stop. The awful strain on the old rotten harness when Cherub pulled and the vehicle was held up, caused the frayed rope mendings to part and the eager horse hurried forward, leaving his unwelcome drag behind.
Of course, the violent halt sent the occupants of the buckboard suddenly forward, so that Mrs. James unceremoniously struck Amity in the back and caused him to lose his breath. Had he not had his feet braced against the foot-rail in front, he would have fallen forward. Rachel, not having used the foot-rail and not expecting any catapulting, went headlong over the old dashboard. As the board was meant for a screen from water and mud and not as a support for such a heavy body as Rachel’s, it splintered and let her sag down between the empty shafts, her head resting on the whiffle-tree and her heels wildly kicking close to Natalie’s head.
The two other passengers were too frightened to notice that Rachel had on her hand-knitted, gayly striped stockings, brought years ago from “Norf Car’liny” and only worn on rare occasions; and Amity was too anxious to coax Cherub back and save himself any effort by going for him, to think of assisting Rachel to extricate herself from the broken-in dashboard.