Any one might have imagined them to be witches of the olden time, riding wildly away up toward the half-obscured moon! So great was the heat that it proved impossible to save the rack and sleds, or even the near-by garden fence, which had caught fire.
That disaster ended the trip.

It was now too near Christmas Day to get more large firs, to say nothing of witches' brooms; and we were obliged to send word to this effect to our Portland patrons.

The next morning Addison and I rode home on old Jim and Buckskin, with their harness tied up in a bundle before us.

The wind was piercing and bleak; we were both so chilled as to be ill of a cold for several days afterward.

The story that we had to tell at home was far from being an inspiriting one.