selves "paying guests" at some house. We cared nothing
whether we slept in the spare rooms of a fine frame "residence" or crept
into bed beneath the eaves of the attic in a log cabin. I had begun to
feel that our journey would be almost too tame and comfortable, when one
night something really happened.

Father lost his bearings. He was hoping to reach the town of Gratiot by
nightfall, and he attempted to make a short cut. To do this he turned
into a road that wound through a magnificent forest, at first of oak and
butternut, ironwood and beech, then of densely growing pines. When we
entered the wood it was twilight, but no sooner were we well within
the shadow of these sombre trees than we were plunged in darkness,
and within half an hour this darkness deepened, so that we could see
nothing--not even the horse.

"The sun doesn't get in here the year round," said father, trying his
best to guide the horse through the mire. So deep was the mud that it
seemed as if it literally sucked at the legs of the horse and the wheels
of the buggy, and I began to wonder if we should really be swallowed,
and to fear that we had met with a difficulty that even my father could
not overcome. I can hardly make plain what a tragic thought that was!
The horse began to give out sighs and groans, and in the intervals of
his struggles to get on, I could feel him trembling. There was a note of
anxiety in father's voice as he called out, with all the authority and
cheer he could command, to poor Sheridan. The wind was rising, and
the long sobs of the pines made cold shivers run up my spine. My teeth
chattered, partly from cold, but more from fright.

"What are we going to do?" I asked, my voice quivering with tears.

"Well, we aren't going to cry, whatever else we do!" answered father,
rather sharply. He snatched the lighted lantern from its place on the
dashboard and leaped out into the road. I could hear him floundering
round in that terrible mire and soothing the horse. The next thing I
realised was that the horse was unhitched, that father had--for the
first time during our journey--laid the lash across Sheridan's back, and
that, with a leap of indignation, the horse had reached the firm ground
of the roadside. Father called out to him to stand still, and a moment
later I found myself being swung from the buggy into father's arms.
He staggered along, plunging and almost falling, and presently I, too,
stood beneath the giant pines.

"On