He was so full of these thoughts that he did not notice how the youth, his driver, several times turned half round towards him, as if about to speak and then ducked down quickly into his big mantle again as if he did not dare. But suddenly he was aroused by a loud shout from many voices just in front of them. The sledge was in a deep lane where the snow had gathered in such drifts that the horses could only go at a walking pace between the wall of snow, a yard high, which had been thrown up on both sides. The driver immediately stopped the horses, and in the faint light cast by the last corner of the moon which still peeped up above the cloud bank in the west, the curate saw, fifty yards ahead of them, a party of snow clearers hard at work. Somewhat nearer, only a dozen paces off, stood another group of men resting on their shovels, and it was they who had recognized the Provst's chair,[1] and therefore shouted out:
"Ye'll have to stop a bit whoever ye are—can't ye see the snow's slippin here?—we'll have it cleared in a minnit—who are ye then?"
"I am the clergyman," called back the curate, somewhat shyly, it was the first time he had called himself by his new title aloud. "We are on our way to a sick person."
The sound of his voice made the men start.
- ↑ The clergy and doctors have a large armchair which is slung in the sledge or wagon, which always has to be sent for them in the country when their services are required.
