Terry; Or, She ought to have been a Boy

by Rosa M. Gilbert

"I don't believe anybody gets up till seven these winter mornings," she reflected, and certainly the house was quite still as she slipped out, and, knowing where to find the stable-keys, she was soon in the stable. She put her own little saddle on the pony and led him from the yard, leaving the keys in the doors, because it was morning, and there was no more use in locking up the places.

Away went Terry trotting down the avenue, full of the enthusiasm of her good intentions. She was soon out on the high-road. There was a crisp, white frost on the grass, but the middle of the road was not at all slippy. The pony went at a good pace, and soon carried her a couple of miles away from home. All this time Terry thought of nothing but the enjoyment of her ride, and of that basket of eggs she was going to carry home to Gran'ma.

Presently the moon set, and there was scarcely a glimmer of daylight, but a great deal of frosty fog. Up to this Terry had been allowing the highway to carry her anywhere it pleased, but now at last she came to four cross-roads, all seeming to lead into fogland, and she stopped short.

"Now I wonder where is Connolly's farm!" she said; but the pony only tossed his head and shook his ears, and was not able to help her.

"I was quite sure it was just about here, because Nursey said 'down at Connolly's farm', and her head shook in this direction. I thought I saw it quite plainly when she was speaking. It ought to be here, and yet I can't see it. This is down, for it has been a little bit downhilly all the way. I'm sure I could see it if the fog would only get away. There! it is getting a little more daylight, and I'll just take this road because it still seems to be going down."

She started off again; but as she went the fog grew thicker and thicker, and Terry soon became aware that it was freezing hard. The pony began to stumble, and several times he nearly fell, for Terry found it hard to hold him up with her little frost-bitten fingers. She worked bravely, but felt that the road was indeed downhill, and all the more difficult in its present state of slipperiness. Still there was no house in sight, and so thick was the fog that unless the door of the farmhouse had been just at hand, it would not have been visible to her.

The road grew worse and worse to the pony's feet, and at last he made a great stumble and went crash down on his knees on some sharp stones. Terry went over his head, but fortunately alighted sitting on the frozen grass by the roadside.

She was soon on her feet, and so was the pony, but the poor little animal was bleeding at the knees, and Terry knew that she must not mount him again. She broke the ice on a pool and bathed his wounds with her handkerchief. She was crying as she wiped away the blood.