straightened up and eagerly began reading the advertisement. The
hill was very steep just at its top, and the sulky slanted backward at
a sharp angle. A terrific burst of wind tore around the corner of
the bluff. It eddied through the sulky between the dashboard and
the curtained sides. The widow, in her excitement at finding the
advertisement, had inadvertently removed her feet from the pile of
papers. In an instant the air was filled with whirling copies of the
Blazeton Weekly Courier.

Henry, the horse, was a sober animal who had long ago reached the age of
discretion. But to have his old ears and eyes suddenly blanketed with a
flapping white thing swooping apparently from nowhere was too much even
for his sedate nerves. He jumped sidewise. The reins were jerked from
the driver's hands and fell in the road.

"Mercy on us!" shrieked Debby, clutching her companion about the waist.
"What--"

"Let go of me!" howled Bailey, pushing her violently aside. "Whoa! Stand
still!"

But Henry refused to stand still. The flapping paper still clung to his
agitated head. He reared and pranced, jerking the sulky back and forth,
its wheels still wedged in the ruts. Bailey sprang to the ground to pick
up the reins. He seized them, but fell as he did so. The tug at his bits
turned Henry's head, literally and figuratively. He reared and whirled
about. The sulky rose on two wheels. The screaming Mrs. Beasley
collapsed against its downward side. Another moment, and the whole upper
half of the sulky--body, seat, curtains, and Debby--tilted over the
lower wheels, and, the rusted bolts failing to hold, slid with a thump
to the frozen road. The wind, catching it underneath as it slid, tipped
it backward. Then Henry ran away.

Miss Dawes, left alone in the house at the foot of the hill, had amused
herself for a time with the Beasley library, which partially filled a
shelf in the sitting room. But "The Book of Martyrs" and "A Believer's
Thoughts on Death" were not cheering literature, particularly as the
author of the latter volume "thought" so dismally concerning the future
of all who did not believe precisely as he did. So the teacher laid down
the book, with a shudder, and wandered about the room, inspecting the
late Mr. Beasley's portrait, the photographs in splintwork frames, the
"alum basket" on the mantel, the blue castles, blue trees, and blue
people pictured on the window shades, and other works of art in the
apartment. She ev