He maintained the same
long, swinging trot, as unfalteringly as ever, though, perhaps, a trifle
less springily than at first. The footing was deep and heavy, the thick
fir-trees having kept the snow from being blown off the road, as in
more exposed situations. Bressant was wet to his skin, for the
temperature had risen, and the flakes melted as fast as they fell. Most
of his glow and vigor remained, however, and he was no whit disheartened
or doubtful. But the sky bent darkly over him, and the tall trees shut
out all but a strip even of the scanty light that came thence. The moon
would not rise for hours yet.
Another hour passed on over the toiling man. He had now begun to get
among hills, and his course was always either up or down. This was in
some degree a relief, affording change of movement to his muscles; but
it probably lost him some little time, and certainly gave plenty of
exercise to his lungs. Something of the superabundant warmth was leaving
his body. He replaced his cap and buttoned up his jacket. What would not
half a dozen biscuits have been worth to him now!
On and on. The hills opened, and in the inclosure they made lay a small
village, with its white meeting-house and clustering dwellings. The
windows were many of them alight: the people were sitting up for the new
year.
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