storm."

"No, doctor, you're wrong," said Uncle Beamish. "What we want is a
strong horse that will take us there whether it storms or not, and we
have got him. And who cares for a little snow that won't hurt nobody?"

I did not care for snow, and we turned up our collars and went as
merrily as people can go to the music of slowly jingling sleigh-bells.

The snow began to fall rapidly, and, what was worse, the wind blew
directly in our faces, so that sometimes my eyes were so plastered up
with snowflakes that I could scarcely see how to drive. I never knew
snow to fall with such violence. The roadway in front of us, as far as
I could see it, was soon one unbroken stretch of white from fence to
fence.

"This is the big storm of the season," said Uncle Beamish, "and it is a
good thing we started in time, for if the wind keeps blowin', this road
will be pretty hard to travel in a couple of hours."

In about half an hour the wind lulled a little and I could get a better
view of our surroundings, although I could not see very far through the
swiftly descending snow.

"I was thinkin'," said Uncle Beamish, "that it might be a good idee,
when we get to Crocker's place, to stop a little, and let you warm your
fingers and nose. Crocker's is ruther more than half-way to the pike."

"Oh, I do not want to stop anywhere," I replied quickly. "I am all
right."

Nothing was said for some time, and then Uncle Beamish remarked:

"I don't want to stop any more than you do, but it does seem strange
that we ain't passed Crocker's yit. We could hardly miss his house, it
is so close to the road. This horse is slow, but I tell you one thing,
doctor, he's improvin'. He is goin' better than he did. That's the
way with this kind. It takes them a good while to get warmed up, but
they keep on gettin' fresher instead of tireder."

The big roan was going better, but still we did not reach Crocker's,
which disappointed Uncle Beamish, who wanted to be assured that the
greater part of his journey was over.

"We must have passed it," he said, "when the snow was so blindin'."

I did not wish to discourage him by saying that I did not think we had
yet reached Crocker's, but I believed I had a much better appreciation
of our horse's slowness than he had.

Again the wind began to blow in our faces, and the snow fell faster,
but the violence of the storm seemed to encourage our horse, for his
pace was now greatly increased.

"That's