[A Dozen Ways Of Love by Lily Dougall]@TWC D-Link bookA Dozen Ways Of Love CHAPTER III 16/27
At the sides of the road the posts and bars of log-fences stood above the drifts; on the side of the hill the naked maple trees formed a soft brush of grey; just in sight, and no more, the white tin roof and grey walls of a huge church and a small village were visible; all else was unbroken snow.
The surface of an ice-covered lake, the sloping fields, the long straight road between the fences, were as pure, in their far-reaching whiteness, as the upper levels of some cloud in shadeless air. A young Englishman was travelling alone through this region.
He had set out from the village and was about to cross the lake.
A shaggy pony, a small sleigh, a couple of buffalo-robes and a portmanteau formed his whole equipment.
The snow was light and dry; the pony trotted, although the road was soft; the young man, wrapped in his fur-lined coat, had little to do in driving. In England no one would set out in such a storm; but this traveller had learned that in Canada the snowy vast is regarded as a plaything, or a good medium of transit, or at the worst, an encumbrance to be plodded through as one plods through storms of rain.
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