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Updated: May 16, 2025
"Phew!" said he, "that's a whoopin' big rain. Say, mother, if we'd only had this two months ago, now, on our dry farm, wouldn't we have raised a crop though." "You must get your clothes off, Rupert." "Oh, that's nothin'. I must milk first; and say, I guess the mud's washed off the roof by the looks of things. I guess I'll fix it." "Never mind now, you're so wet."
With the last bit of energy in them they freed themselves from the mud's suction and painfully crawled up the bank. "Made it!" said Higgins, dropping flat on his face. Payne raised himself on all fours and looked round through mud-caked eyes. And then he began to laugh in a way that brought Higgins' head up with a start. The high ground of the bank was a strip perhaps ten feet in width.
His humour met with a slow response from the driver, who sat playfully flicking at a horsefly on the flank of a tall, raw-boned sorrel. "Wall, thar's been a sight of rain lately," he observed, with goodnatured acquiescence, "but I don't reckon the mud's more'n waist deep, an' if you do happen to git clean down, thar's Sol Peterkin along to pull you out. Whar're you hidin', Sol?
Then, in dense obscurity, a tempest had howled and shrieked about us; now, in the unclouded sunshine, a gemmed and sparkling world revealed beauty everywhere. For a long distance our sleighs made the first tracks, and it seemed almost a pity to sully the purity of the white, drift-covered road. "What a lot of mud's hid under this snow!" was John Jones's prose over the opening vistas.
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