A CHRISTMAS JAUNT 



Here, once more, the drifts rose to the 

 tops of the fence-posts, but a day of fine 

 weather had made it the duty of the 

 farmers to turn out with their shovels 

 and home-made snow ploughs, while 

 earlier travellers had done us good ser- 

 vice in beating down the road. The snow 

 creaked and whined in a cold far below 

 zero, rime gathered thick on the shaggy 

 winter coats of the horses ; the eye pene- 

 trated to the uttermost limits of the 

 horizon through vapourless crystalline 

 air that spar ed^ nothing, concealed noth- 

 ing, drew no veil of distance and mys- 

 tery over the remotest hills. 



Our charretier promised to do the last 

 eighteen miles in less than three hours, 

 and was much better than his word. The 

 rush down steep, winding hills to the St. 

 Lawrence was a mad and exhilarating 

 progress, giving scant time for specula- 

 tion on the upshot should a cantering 

 horse lose his footing or take a curve too 

 sharply. No motor car in its best flight 



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