28 



WINTER 



He was alone ; but the thought of the great flock 

 speeding on to the town ahead was company enough. 

 Besides, he had too much to do, and to do quickly, 

 to think of himself ; for the snow was blocking his 

 road, and the cold was getting at him. But how the 

 wires overhead sang to him! How the sounding 

 forest sang to him as he went back to give the horse 

 a snatch of supper ! 



He was soon on the road, where the wind at his 

 back and the tall trees gave him protection. The 

 four-wheeled wagon pulled hard through the piling 

 snow, but the horse had had an easy day, and George 

 kept him going until, toward eight o'clock, he drew 

 up behind a lofty pile of slabs and sawdust at the 

 old mill. 



A wilder storm never filled the resounding forests 

 of the North. The old mill was far from being proof 

 against the fine, icy snow ; but when George rolled 

 himself in his heavy blanket and lay down beside 

 his dog, it was to go to sleep to the comfortable 

 munching of the horse, and with the thought that 

 Herbert and the turkeys were safe. 



And they were safe. It was late in the afternoon 

 !the next day when George, having left the wagon at 

 the mill, came floundering behind the horse through 

 the unbroken road into the streets of the junction, 

 to find Herbert anxiously waiting for him, and the 

 turkeys, with full crops, trying hard to go to roost 

 inside their double-decked car. 





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