Bates observed the change in light and colour; Saul did not; neither was disposed to dally for a moment.  They were obliged to give forth their voices now in hoarse ejaculations, to make the patient beasts understand that they were to step off the rough log landing-place into the boat.  The boat was almost rectangular in shape, but slightly narrower at the ends than in the middle, and deeper in the middle than at the ends; it was of rough wood, unpainted.  The men disposed the oxen in the middle of the boat; the cart they unloaded, and distributed its contents as they best might.  With long stout poles they then pushed off from the shore.  Men and oxen were reflected in the quiet water.

They were not bound on a long or perilous voyage.  The boat was merely to act as a ferry round a precipitous cliff where the shore was impassable, and across the head of the gushing river that formed the lake’s outlet, for the only road through the hills lay along the further shore of this stream.

The men kept the boat in shallow water, poling and rowing by turns.  There was a thin coating of ice, like white silk, forming on the water.  As they went, Bates often looked anxiously where the log house stood on the slope above him, fearing to see the girl come running frantic to the water’s edge, but he did not see her.  The door of the house remained shut, and no smoke rose from its chimney.  They had left the childish old woman sitting on the edge of her bed; Bates knew that she would be in need of fire and food, yet he could not wish that the girl should wake yet.  “Let her sleep,” he muttered to himself.  “It will do her good.”  Yet it was not for her good he wished her to sleep, but for his own peace.

The pink faded from the sky, but the sun did not shine forth brightly.  It remained wan and cold, like a moon behind grey vapours.

“I’ll not get back in a week, or on wheels,” said Saul.  He spoke more cheerfully than was pleasing to his employer.

“If it snows ye’ll have to hire a sleigh and get back the first minute you can.”  The reply was stern.

The elder and bigger man made no further comment.  However much he might desire to be kept in the gay world by the weather, the stronger will and intellect, for the hour at least, dominated his intention.

They rowed their boat past the head of the river.  In an hour they had reached that part of the shore from which the inland road might be gained.  They again loaded the cart.  It, like the boat, was of the roughest description; its two wheels were broad and heavy; a long pole was mortised into their axle.  The coffin and the potash barrel filled the cart’s breadth; the sacks of buckwheat steadied the barrel before and behind.  The meek red oxen were once more fastened to it on either side of the long pole.  The men parted without farewells.