Three hours!—three mortal hours to wait. Horrors! Why, that gave time for Wiman to return home and start in pursuit. I paced up and down the yard like a caged lion, glancing every few minutes in the direction of the lake. At length the train came in sight, and almost simultaneously I noticed a team galloping with incontinent haste through the blinding snow, half-way across the lake.
It was a race between the iron horse and thews and sinews. On they come. Which will be the first in? With breathless interest I glance from one to the other.
Hurrah! the train is in. My baggage is checked and in the van.
“All aboard there! Right away!”
Here comes Wiman through, puffing and blowing like a grampus; and standing with easy grace upon the platform of the hindmost car, there goes “yours truly.”
A NIGHT PADDLE.
AMID the lilies in the marsh
The frogs in solemn chorus croak;
The owlet’s hooting, weird and harsh,
Is sounding from the hollow oak.