an abrupt
lurch, in which the vehicle swayed precariously and ponderously from
side to side, they started up the steep, snowy bank, and breaking into
their ungainly rim were guided into the left fork of the road. It was
a level stretch and fringed about with pines, and soon all sight of the
pilgrims was lost amidst the heavy snow-laden boughs.

The river bank was silent and solitary; and after a considerable
interval a man rode down from the right fork to the ford.

More than once his horse refused the passage. A sort of parrot-faced man
he was, known as Tank Dysart, young, red-haired, with a long, bent nose
and a preposterous air of knowingness and turbulent inquiry. He cocked
his head on one side with a snort of surprised indignation, and beat
with both heels, but again the horse, sidling about the drifts, declined
the direct passage and essayed to cross elsewhere.

All at once a bundle of red flannel, lying in the drift close to the
water's edge, caught his attention, and suddenly there issued forth a
lusty bawl. The horseman would have turned pale but for the whisky which
had permanently incarnadined the bend of his nose. As it was, however,
he looked far more dismayed than the facts might seem to warrant.

"It's the booze--I got 'em again fur sartain!" he quavered in plaintive
helplessness, his terrified eyes fixed on the squirming bundle.

Then, drunk as he was, he perceived the rift in his logic "Gol-darn ye!"
he exclaimed, violently kicking the horse, "you-uns ain't got no call
ter view visions an' see sights--ye old water-bibber!"

As the horse continued to snort and back away from the object Tank
Dysart became convinced of its reality. Still mounted, he passed close
enough alongside for a grasp at it. The old red-flannel cape and hood
disclosed a plump infant about ten months of age, whimpering and cruelly
rubbing his eyes with his fists, and now bawling outright with rage;
as he chanced to meet the gaze of his rescuer he paused to laugh in
a one-sided way, displaying two pearly teeth and a very beguiling
red tongue, but again stiffening himself he yelled as behooves a
self-respecting baby so obviously misplaced.

Tank Dysart held him out at arm's length in his strong grasp, surveying
him in mingled astonishment and delight. "Why, bless my soul, Christmas
gift!" he addressed him. "I'm powerful obligated fur yer company!"

For the genial infant giggled and sputtered and gurgled inconsistently
in the mid