“They will find out at some station, and when the line is clear of snow they will send an engine. It happens that way sometimes.”
“We may be here all night!” exclaimed Abbleway.
The woman nodded as though she thought it possible.
“Are there wolves in these parts?” asked Abbleway hurriedly.
“Many,” said the woman; “just outside this forest my aunt was devoured three years ago, as she was coming home from market. The horse and a young pig that was in the cart were eaten too. The horse was a very old one, but it was a beautiful young pig, oh, so fat. I cried when I heard that it was taken. They spare nothing.”
“They may attack us here,” said Abbleway tremulously; “they could easily break in, these carriages are like matchwood. We may both be devoured.”
“You, perhaps,” said the woman calmly; “not me.”
“Why not you?” demanded Abbleway.
“It is the day of Saint Mariä Kleophä, my name-day. She would not allow me to be eaten by wolves on her day. Such a thing could not be thought of. You, yes, but not me.”
Abbleway changed the subject.