THE SLEIGH RIDE.
“Oh, I’m afraid! I’m afraid!” William Jones cried, shrinking back, as his father took his hand, in the act of leading him forward to lift him into a beautiful sleigh, that had just drove up to the door, and in which his mother and elder sister were already seated; their feet comfortably wrapped up in a warm buffalo robe.
“Afraid! what are you afraid of?” Mr. Jones asked, in a tone of surprise.
“Oh, I’m afraid the horses will run away—or that the sleigh will break. Indeed, I’d rather not go.”
“Do you not think that your mother, and sister Ellen, and myself, will be in just the danger you fear?”
“Yes.”
“And is not my son willing to share that danger with those he loves?”
“But why do you go, father, when there is danger?”
“We do not think that we shall be in any more real danger, while riding with two gentle horses, than we would be if we were sitting in the house, or walking in the street. But come, William; I cannot stand talking to you here; and it is quite necessary that you try to overcome your fears. So jump in, and take your place alongside of sister Ellen.”
“But, indeed, I would rather not go, father,” William urged, holding back.