But, like Charles XII., “after Pultowa’s dreadful day,” when the tale-teller listened for his sympathy,

  “The king had been an hour asleep.”

I am ashamed to say that I must have lost myself after that, though I thought I was only thinking of the Day of Judgment.  But I must have dreamed it, or how should I have thought it the last trumpet, when it was only the stage-driver’s warning knock?

It was delightful to hear the knock, and the simultaneous clang of pots and pans which assured us, that, though night had been no night to us, the dark morning would usher in our breakfast with coffee by the faithful Polly.  The driver coming in again before we had finished, we seduced him without scruple into taking a cup of boiling comfort, while we guiltily collected the waifs and strays of our multifarious luggage.  Many a time I have waited, myself, in the coach, while similar orgies were going on among the unready, so I know just how vexed and impatient the passengers were.  But what use to go on without the driver?  At last we squeezed into the full stage.

III.

No sooner in than out, however.  I was determined not to die before my time, as I was sure to do on the back-seat of an overloaded stage, with nine passengers, besides numerous, because gratuitously earned, children.  “For who,” as it was sometimes pertinently asked, “would charge anything for a poor little innocent child?” The younger, the more innocent, of course, and the more numerous.

“If you’ll set up here ‘long o’ me, Miss Prince, there’s a plenty o’ room,—­and for you, too, Parson,” said the good-natured driver.

Extricating ourselves from the Black Hole, we delightedly clambered to the heights above, regardless of risk, and catching at wheel and step like Alpine hunters.  How comfortable the seat was, with the fresh, early morning air blowing freely in our faces!  How small the horses looked in the dim light of three o’clock!  How oddly the wheel-horses looked, all backs and no legs!—­and how mysteriously many were the reins that were tied round and round the iron lantern-rod!

“Just let me put the mail-bag under your feet, Miss Prince.  Here we are, now, all right, and nothin’ to do but go along!”

“Now, then!”

“Come up! come! come!”

But in vain were caresses; in vain were chirrups, duckings, and kisses, wafted to the nigh leader.  Like the rebellious South of to-day, he had taken his attitude, and stood now on four legs, now on two, pawing only the dark air, and regardless of the general welfare behind him.

“Now what will you do, driver?” said cowardly I, who, always mortally afraid of horse-flesh, felt on this occasion a strange confidence:  partly in the staid, heavy mass of determination beside me, who looked so calm and good-natured; and partly in the queer, elfin look of the beast, who seemed so far off as to have no necessary connection with our safety or ultimate progress.  It seemed quite possible for us to get on with the other three pulling, while our demoniacal friend ornamented the occasion by plunges, rearings, and kickings.