a time, then suddenly gave a shriek such as is seldom heard from a horse—and leaped into the air. Back on to the road he would not go. When Long-Bengt tried to urge him on, he reared and came near kicking the chaise to pieces.
"What is it, Bengt, what is it?" gasped Fru Raklitz, clutching the man's arm in her fright. "Has the horse gone mad?"
"That horse has more sense than Frua and me both," answered Long-Bengt. "He's not mad, he sees something we ain't got eyes for to see."
Svarten nosed the ground, snorted, and backed, regardless of the chaise and those in it. Luckily, they were in a field where the summer's rye had been cut, so that the ground was quite smooth and even. They noticed that they were backing toward a broad, deep ditch; but when the vehicle was at the very edge, the horse stopped; he probably thought he had got past the worst danger. Though still nosing the ground and snorting, he made no more leaps.
"You'd better get out, Frua," said Long-Bengt, "while I try to urge him past whatever 'tis he sees."
Fru Raklitz unbuttoned the carriage apron and was about to set foot to the ground, when she drew back with a cry.
"I can't step down, Bengt," she said.… "It's moving!"
"I believe Frua's as daft as the horse," laughed Long-Bengt. "What's moving?"
