Mrs. Walton had been more than kind and considerate, but her very effort to offer attentions and induce the new governess to forget her position only made it more marked, like an erasure upon white paper.
Miss Amory scolded herself twenty times a day, and devoted herself more and more to her duties, but still she could not help looking forward to next summer, when—when—well, beyond that it was all vague. At any rate, there might be some change for the better. Perhaps she could give music-lessons, or could teach school; something she would do where she was her own mistress.
The train rumbled on, and the storm increased. Twice they had to stop and back before they could push their way through a narrow cut where the huge drifts were wedged in solidly from brim to brim. At last, just as the December light was fading from the sky, hurried by the whirling snow-mist, the cars came to a standstill beside a long, low building, and the conductor shouted, “Haybrook! Haybrook!”
Ten minutes later, two sleighs, one in advance loaded with boxes and parcels, the other with the ladies and the two children, crept slowly up the hill that led from the little brown station to the main road. For a while the houses on each side and a few half-obliterated tracks made navigation comparatively easy; but once out of the village it became a matter of nice calculation. The sleet stung the faces of the drivers and formed little icy crusts over the eyes of the patient horses, who struggled on, setting their hoofs down firmly into the smooth, unbroken sheet of snow and sending it out on either side like foam. Suddenly there was a creak, a lurch, and then a dead stop. The drivers consulted in muffled tones as they examined the harness.
“Broken jest above the buckle; nothing to hitch to.”
“Better call up the old man, ’n’ get Wesley to help. ’S only a step further ’n the Corner.”
In the sleigh, Mrs. Walton and her governess, covered with heavy buffalo-robes, waited patiently. The children fidgeted.
“I want to get out and wade.”