Clinton by Walter Aimwell — Read

The sun rose clear, the next morning, and after an early and bountiful breakfast, Mr. Davenport and Clinton bid good-bye to Uncle Tim and his family, and resumed their journey. The country through which they rode was much the same as that they had already passed over, with the exception that it was if possible even more stern and wild, not a single house or cultivated spot meeting their eyes during the whole forenoon's ride. After the first hour, Clinton was not quite as lively as usual. In fact, he felt a trifle less cheerful than ordinary-he could not tell whether it sprang from a touch of home-sickness, or from a sense of lonesomeness. But his unpleasant feelings arose more from the influence of the dreary winter scenery upon his mind, than from either of these causes. His father, noticing this, chatted away in a more lively strain than usual, and after awhile succeeded in dispelling the tinge of gloom from his mind.

The road being travelled but very little, the sleighing was poor, and there was no prospect of their reaching their destination before the middle of the afternoon. Accordingly, about noon, they reined up, for the purpose of resting the horse, and eating their dinner. Having given Fanny a wisp of hay, to take up her mind, they collected together a heap of dead wood, the remnants of fallen trees, etc., which they found near the road, and set it on fire. It burned finely, and sent out a cheerful warmth, in which they seated themselves, and partook with a keen relish of the various good things which Clinton's mother had stowed away in the sleigh-box.