The two men sprang into the cutter, and the snow flew in their faces from the horse's hoofs as they went out the barn door.
The old tavern stood facing the old turnpike road to Boston, but the store and barn faced on the new road at its back, and people generally approached the tavern by that way.
William and Barney had to drive down the hill; then turn the corner, and up the hill again on the old turnpike.
There was not a house on that road for a full mile.

William urged the horse as fast as he could through the fresh snow.

Both men kept a sharp lookout at the sides of the road.

The sun was out now, and the snow was blinding white; the north wind drove a glittering spray as sharp and stinging as diamond-dust in their faces.
Once William cried out, with a dry sob, "My God, she'll freeze in this wind, if she's out in it!" And Barney answered, "Maybe it would be better for her if she did." William looked at him for the first time since they started.

"See here, Barney," he said, "God knows it's not to shield myself--I'm past that; but I've begged her all summer to be married.