“Not in this fog. You can't see a hundred foot. No, I've got to go right off. Good land! I never thought! Is the horse gone?” “No; the horse is here. Abner took one of the store horses to go to Harniss with. But he did take the buggy, and there's no other carriage but the old carryall, and that's almost tumblin' to pieces.” “I was cal'latin' to go horseback.” “What! and leave me here alone with the house afire? No, indeed! If you go, I'm goin', too.” “Well, then, the carryll's got to do, whether or no. Git on a shawl or somethin', while I harness up.” It was a frantic harnessing, but it was done in a hurry, and the ramshackle old carryall, dusty and cobwebbed, was dragged out of the barn, and Horace Greeley, the horse, was backed into the shafts. As they drove out of the yard the flames were roaring through the roof of the henhouse, and the lath fence surrounding it was beginning to blaze. “Everything's so wet from the fog and the melted snow,” observed the Captain, “that it 'll take some time for the fire to git to the barn. If we can git a gang here we can save the house easy, and maybe more. By mighty!” he ejaculated, “I tell you what we'll do. I'll drive across the ford and git Luther and some of the station men to come right across. Then I'll go on to the village to fetch more. It was seven when I looked at the clock as we come in from washin' dishes, so the tide must be still goin' out, and the ford jest right. Git dap!” “Hurry all you can, for goodness' sake! Is this as fast as we can go?” “Fast as we can go with this everlastin' Noah's Ark. Heavens! how them wheels squeal!” “The axles ain't been greased for I don't know when. Abner was going to have the old carriage chopped up for kindlin' wood.” “Lucky for him and us 'tain't chopped up now. Git dap, slow-poke! Better chop the horse up, too, while he's 'bout it.” The last remark the Captain made under his breath. “My gracious, how dark it is! Think you can find the crossin'?” “GOT to find it; that's all. 'Tis dark, that's a fact.” It was. They had gone but a few hundred yards; yet the fire was already merely a shapeless, red smudge on the foggy blackness behind them. Horace Greeley pounded along at a jog, and when the Captain slapped him with the end of the reins, broke into a jerky gallop that was slower than the trot. “Stop your hoppin' up and down!” commanded Perez, whose temper was becoming somewhat frayed. “You make me think of the walkin' beam on a steamboat. If you'd stop tryin' to fly and go straight ahead we'd do better.” They progressed in this fashion for some distance. Then Miss Davis, from the curtained depths of the back seat, spoke again. “Oh, dear me!” she exclaimed. “Are you sure you're on the right track? Seems 's if we MUST be abreast the station, and this road's awful rough.” Captain Perez had remarked the roughness of the road. The carryall was pitching from one hummock to another, and Horace Greeley stumbled once or twice.