Indeed they could not. They had tried and
tried, and done their best, but finding themselves unable to move
the carriage an inch, preferred standing still to spending
themselves in vain struggles, for all their eight legs went
slipping about under them.
Cosmo looked up to the box. The driver was little more than a boy,
and nearly dead with cold. Already Aggie had a forefoot of the near
horse in her hand. Cosmo ran to the other.
"Their feet's fu' o' snaw," said Aggie.
"Ay; it's ba'd hard," said Cosmo. "They maun hae come ower a saft
place: it wadna ba' the nicht upo' the muir."
"Hae ye yer knife, Cosmo?" asked Aggie.
Here a head was put out of the carriage-window. It was that of a
lady in a swansdown travelling-hood. She had heard an
unintelligible conversation--and one intelligible word. They must
be robbers! How else should they want a knife in a snowstorm? Why
else should they have stopped the carriage? She gave a little cry
of alarm. Aggie dropped the hoof she held, and went to the window.
"What's yer wull, mem?" she asked.
"What's the matter?" the lady returned in a trembling voice, but
not a little reassured at the sight, as she crossed the range of
one of the lamps, of the face of a young girl. "Why doesn't the
coachman go on?"
"He canna, mem. The horse canna win throu the snaw. They hae ba's
o' 't i' their feet, an' they canna get a grip wi' them, nae mair
nor ye cud yersel', mem, gien the soles o' yer shune war roon' an'
made o'ice.
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