“Well,” sighed Carolyn May, “I’m glad to know that. It’s bothered me a good deal. If my mamma and papa had to be dead, maybe that was the nicest way for them to go.
“Only—only,” confessed the little girl, “I’d feel so much better if they’d been brought back and we could have buried them behind the church, like Aunty Rose’s babies and her spouse. And—and I’d feel better yet if they weren’t dead at all!”
CHAPTER XIX—A GOOD DEAL OF EXCITEMENT
Tim, the hackman, had an accident to his load before he was ready to start from the camp after dinner. He was hauling maple and other hardwood logs to the turning mill at Sunrise Cove; and, the team he worked being a sturdy pair of animals, he piled a heavy cargo on the jumper. Just as he called to Carolyn May to hop upon the load for the ride home the horses started.
“Hey, you!” sang out the hack driver. “What d’ye think you’re doin’? Hey, there! Whoa!”
Unguided, the horses brought the sled with a vicious crash against a snow-covered stump. The load rocked, one runner hoisted into the air, and the load toppled over completely. The log-chain could not stand such a strain, and right there and then occurred a notable overturn.
“Pitcher of George Washington!” bawled Tim. “Now look what you went and done!”
He declaimed this against the spirited team. The whole camp yelled its delight.
“You ain’t fit to drive anything more lively than that old rackabones you tackle to your hack in summer, Tim,” declared the boss of the camp. “You don’t know nothing about managing a real horse.”
“Hi, Timmy!” called another, “want somebody to hold their heads while ye build up that load again?”