298 IValks in New England 



cuts out a narrow path to the road, and other nar 

 row paths to the barn, the wood-house and the 

 tool-shop, and for the rest the snow s unbroken 

 beauty lies until the sun disposes of it. When 

 the chores are done and breakfast eaten, he yokes 

 his cattle, hitches the tongue of his wood-sled to 

 the yoke-ring, and starts with the boys to break 

 out. His neighbors do the same thing, and where 

 the road needs a heroic effort, the chains are 

 hooked on and two or three yoke attached in line, 

 and on they flounder till the road is made. Here 

 they dig through a short drift ; there they cut 

 around a big one, going through a pasture or 

 meadow, sometimes through an open bar-way, 

 sometimes over the fence, after a rail or two is 

 taken out. But the road is made somehow, not 

 such a road as you could speed a horse on, but a 

 road that will serve their turn. And it is a very 

 much more interesting spectacle to an eye that 

 appreciates the fact, than the city methods present. 

 Lives have been lost in this visitation, and this 

 remarkable quatrain is written by Mason Arnold 

 Green in view of that : 



&quot; Make me a bed,&quot; the Storm King said, 



&quot; Hard as fate and yet lighter than feather.&quot; 

 A bed of snow the blizzards blow : 



And the Storm King and Death sleep together. 



