The rain fell faster and
faster, and beat harder and harder against the wings, as it tried to
find its way between the oily outside feathers, into their skins. The
earth was hidden by fogs; lakes, mountains, and woods floated together
in an indistinct maze, and the landmarks could not be distinguished. The
flight became slower and slower; the joyful cries were hushed; and the
boy felt the cold more and more keenly.
But still he had kept up his courage as long as he had ridden through
the air. And in the afternoon, when they had lighted under a little
stunted pine, in the middle of a large morass, where all was wet, and
all was cold; where some knolls were covered with snow, and others stood
up naked in a puddle of half-melted ice-water, even then, he had not
felt discouraged, but ran about in fine spirits, and hunted for
cranberries and frozen whortleberries. But then came evening, and
darkness sank down on them so close, that not even such eyes as the
boy's could see through it; and all the wilderness became so strangely
grim and awful. The boy lay tucked in under the goosey-gander's wing,
but could not sleep because he was cold and wet. He heard such a lot of
rustling and rattling and stealthy steps and menacing voices, that he
was terror-stricken and didn't know where he should go. He must go
somewhere, where there was light and heat, if he wasn't going to be
entirely scared to death.
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