Faith laughed, and gave little shrieks, alternately, as they rose triumphantly from deep, "slumpy" hollows, or pitched headlong into others again. Thus, struggling, enjoying--just frightened enough, now and then, to keep up the excitement--they came upon the summit of the ridge. Now their way lay downward. This began to look really almost perilous. With careful guiding, however, and skillful balancing--tipping, creaking, sinking, emerging--they kept on slowly, about half the distance down the descent. Suddenly, the horse, as men and brutes, however sagacious, sometimes will, made a miscalculation of depth or power--lost his sure balance--sunk to his body in the yielding snow--floundered violently in an endeavor to regain safe footing--and, snap! crash! was down against the drift at the left, with a broken shaft under him! Mr. Gartney sprang to his head. One runner was up--one down. The sleigh stuck fast at an angle of about thirty degrees. Faith clung to the upper side. Here was a situation! What was to be done? Twilight coming on--no help near--no way of getting anywhere! "Faith," said Mr. Gartney, "what have you got on your feet?" "Long, thick snow boots, father. What can I do?" "Do you dare to come and try to unfasten these buckles? There is no danger. Major can't stir while I hold him by the head." Faith jumped out into the snow, and valorously set to work at the buckles. She managed to undo one, and to slip out the fastening of the trace, on one side, where it held to the whiffletree. But the horse was lying so that she could not get at the other. "I'll come there, father!" she cried, clambering and struggling through the drift till she came to the horse's head. "Can't I hold him while you undo the harness?" "I don't believe you can, Faithie. He isn't down so flat as to be quite under easy control." "Not if I sit on his head?" asked Faith. "That might do," replied her father, laughing. "Only you would get frightened, maybe, and jump up too soon." "No, I won't," said Faith, quite determined upon heroism. While she spoke, she had picked up the whip, which had fallen close by, doubled back the lash against the handle, and was tying her blue veil to its tip. Then she sat down on the animal's great cheek, which she had never fancied to be half so broad before, and gently patted his nose with one hand, while she upheld her blue flag with the other. Major's big, panting breaths came up, close beside her face. She kept a quick, watchful eye upon the road below. "He's as quiet as can be, father! It must be what Miss Beecher called the 'chivalry of horses'!" "It's the chivalry that has to develop under petticoat government!" retorted Mr. Gartney.