154 JUSTIN MORGAN 



would become chilled to the bone, with often nothing 

 but hemlock boughs to eat. They panted and strained 

 as they climbed, and the lumbering stage, with its 

 heavy load of freight, had to be hauled over the tops of 

 the almost perpendicular hills and mountains, at the 

 crack of a long, keen whip in the hands of a merciless 

 driver; every moment they were in danger of crashing 

 over an embankment. It took steady nerve to do this, 

 and poor, proud Morgan, who had never before felt a 

 whip, chafed under the treatment and the remarks of 

 people who had known him in his prime. 



He almost fretted himself to death, he was heartsick, 

 and a leaden weariness of battling came over him; he 

 was in a pitiable plight. 



That year crops were all killed, famine threatened, 

 and once more Vermont drank the cup of desolation to 

 its dregs. Good church people, with their children 

 starving, cursed their God. 



On one occasion the stage passed the farm of a man 

 driven to desperation by the conditions — no crops — no 

 food. He did not hear the stage coming — the horses' 

 feet fell noiselessly on the soundless road, knee-deep — 

 the heavy wheels half hidden — in mud. There he stood, 

 his Bible in his hand, and in a loud voice he poured 

 forth a torrent of threats ''to burn the Book if his crops 

 were killed by the threatening frost." 



Mother Nature had made her plans, and did not 

 change them for such impious railings. 



When the stage passed, a few days later, neighbors' 

 tongues buzzed with Diah Brewster's blasphemy, for he 

 had kept his word ! 



No one could suggest a punishment to fit the crime, 

 although there were stocks and branding for lesser mis- 

 demeanors, such as drunkenness and lying. 



Unfortunately, the stage had to go on before the 



