If he dreaded cutting his team’s ankles, the danger was not lessened by this choice of routes. For after some easy progress and much winding among saplings and jarring against stumps, they descended to a seldom-used bridge across the Feeder, standing like an island in a frozen lake. Theophilus Gill drew up his horses. There was not room in which to turn back, and the occupants of the sled rose with some apprehension.
Nora Waddell said she would never go over that bridge. Theophilus observed doubtfully he’d risk gettin’ the team across, but mebby some of the boys had better walk over and lighten the load.
Everybody alighted except the driver, who cautiously, and reassuring his snorting horses, moved across the ice and up the bridge. It shook under their tread to such a degree that nearly all the party resolved to trust the ice in preference, and pushed their tracks carefully upon the snow-covered Feeder. Besides Nora Waddell, Philip Welchammer took under his charge Mary Thompson, Priscilla’s flighty young sister, who was barely fifteen and in short dresses, but so headstrong that she would go into company whenever Priscilla did. Starts and exclamations were finally blended into a general outcry, for the ice gave way, and several figures disappeared to their very necks. Then the young men who had landed were prompt in action, while some of the girls showed courage and pioneer swiftness of resource. Philip and his two companions were pulled out, and huddled, dripping, into the sled, all available covering being piled upon them. Everybody scrambled in, and Theophilus, restraining his horses, asked, in an excited shout, if they were all in. Mary Thompson, through her chattering teeth, retorted, “Of course all of us were in, and if he did not mean to kill us entirely, he’d better whip up and get to some fireplace.”
Thus reproached, and by the Swamp Queen’s sister, the young man drove with such zeal that his horses ran away, and were restrained from tearing the vehicle to bits against logs and fences only by his utmost strength and horsemanship.
Thus the party came like a whirlwind up the open lane to Macauley’s, and were hurried into the three-story house, while Macauley’s boys led the horses away to a barn of similar magnitude, where long rows of stalls and shining flanks were discernible by lantern-light.
No less than three fireplaces had blazing logs piled to the very chimney throats. Sarah Macauley conducted the girls upstairs to the best room, from which opened a bedchamber where they laid off their wraps. The young men found a similar haven on the other side of the staircase. And it was pleasant to hear the logs snap while frost lay so thick on the two upper porches which were let into the sides of the house.
Macauleys were very well off indeed. The estate consisted of fifteen thousand dollars cash, besides a couple of farms, and the largest homestead in the township. Mr. Macauley had accumulated all this, after breaking up twice during his career, paying security debts. Nearly all the floors were carpeted in home-made stripe or hit-or-miss, and the best beds reared backs as lofty and imposing as the backs of elephants.
Numbers of young women, arrived before this party, were basking in the best room, their hair and collars smoothed, and their eyes taking keen neighborly notes while the hum of conversation went on. Miss Miller from Millersport was there, and appeared a worthy rival for Priscilla Thompson. She had pink cheeks, and pretty brown hair on a low, delicate forehead, these charms being distractingly set in an all-wool blue merino dress and ribbon headdress to match. Miss Miller possessed two thousand dollars in her own right, and would come in for all her father’s property when he died. Besides, she had attended select school in Lancaster, and some said she was so fine she would cut a bean in two rather than lift the whole of it on the point of her knife to her very pretty mouth.
Mrs. Macauley lost not an instant in dosing her drenched guests with hot whiskey and ginger stew. Other raiment was provided for them. When all the young people had arrived and warmed themselves, they were to descend to the dining-room, one of the largest apartments ever seen in those days, supported by a row of posts across the centre, and floored by oak as smooth as glass. The name of kitchen would have fitted it as well, for here the family cooked. One of those new-fashioned iron machines called stoves stood beside the fireplace, having a pipe to carry its smoke into the chimney. But Mrs. Macauley often said it was not half as much use to her as the Dutch ovens she always baked in, over the coals.
A line of chairs waited around the sides of the dining-room. The pantry, opening at one end, half revealed stacks of Christmas provisions on shelves.