Her right hand still grasped the useless rein.

She stared before her, while the rocking of the little carriage grew more and more violent, and the hedges and trees flew past them.

How long would it be before the terrified pony shook herself free of the carriage altogether, or upset it on one of those mud-banks?
The old spirit kept wonderfully calm and collected.

There was just one chance--that Chloe might keep the middle of the road, and presently pull up of herself, being exhausted.

If only the phaeton would not rock so much.