"No, thank you," I answered, "I much prefer walking."
"Too late for a gal like you to be out," he said; "you jump up and drive along o' me."
"No, thank you," I repeated, walking on as fast as I could.
He whipped his horse on to keep pace with me; then, leaning on the dashboard, he made as though he would climb out of the cart. But just at that moment a big bird rustled out of the hedge—the horse sprang aside, precipitated his master into the bottom of the cart, and went off at a gallop. Very thankful I was to see them disappear into the distance!
I was shaking so with fear that I had to sit down on a stone heap for a while.
I pulled myself together and started on again, but all joy was gone from the adventure—there seemed really to be too much adventure about it.
Three miles, four miles more I walked; but they did not go as the first miles had gone. It was eleven o'clock, and I was only halfway; at this rate I could not be home before two in the morning. If they had been coming to meet me they would have done so before this. They must have given me up for the night, every one would be in bed and asleep, and to wake them up in the small hours would frighten them more than my not coming home had done.
Moreover, the long road over the hill and through the woods was before me. The thought of the moonlit, silent woods, with their weird shadows, was too much for me; I looked about for a place of refuge for the night.
I soon found one.
A splendid rick of hay in a field close to the road had been cut. Halfway up it there was a wide, broad ledge—just the place for a bed. I did not take long to reach it, and, pulling some loose hay over myself in case it grew chilly at dawn, I said my prayers—they were real prayers that night—and was soon asleep in my soft, fragrant bed.