Even the
thought of thunder and lightning would lose some of its terrors
if she could only get to Tom.
Suddenly she heard a voice shouting, then the rattle of chain
harness. The voice boomed out a stave of an old hymn:
"On Jordan's stormy bank I stand,
And cast a wishful eye."
"It's Tom!" gasped Nan, and ran harder.
She was almost across the open space now. The cooler depths of
the forest were just ahead. Beyond, a road crossed the mainly-
traveled swamp track at right angles to it, and this was the path
Tom followed.
He was now coming from the river, going deeper into the swamp for
another log. Nan continued to run, calling to him at the top of
her voice.
She came in sight of the young timberman and his outfit. His
wagon rattled so that he could not easily hear his cousin calling
to him. He sat on the tongue of the wagon, and his big, slow-
moving horses jogged along, rattling their chains in a jingle
more noisy than harmonious.
The timber cart was a huge, lumbering affair with ordinary
cartwheels in front but a huge pair behind with an extended reach
between them; and to the axle of the rear pair of wheels the
timber to be transported was swung off the ground and fastened
with chains.
Pages:
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200