MY TRAVELING COMPANION
It was the last of March. The weather was fair and here and there one could see signs of approaching Spring. Birds were beginning to twitter in the branches. Sleighing, if not completely broken up, was bad; the roads were rough and muddy, and in several places the bare ground showed through. Brooks and rivers were filled with floating snow and ice and dirt, and only the sharp freezing at night kept them from overflowing their banks. In favored places many a little brook had burst through to freedom and was joyfully leaping down the declivities, and rushing noisily away to the breast of its mother—the ancient sea.
Such was the season and condition of traveling, when business forced me to take a journey outside my own parish.
Early that morning I came across a man, who like myself was forced to travel on business. He had one emaciated old horse and a heavy sleigh; indeed he went on foot and pushed the sleigh. When I overtook him I jumped out and trudged along beside him.
“Good morning, old man,” I began, as I reached his side.
“Good morning,” was the reply, without looking in my direction.
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