The next day, early in the morning, the mother was seated in the post chaise, jolting along the road washed by the autumn rain. A damp wind blew on her face, the mud splashed, and the coachman on the box, half-turned toward her, complained in a meditative snuffle:
"I say to him--my brother, that is--let's go halves. We began to divide"--he suddenly whipped the left horse and shouted angrily: "Well, well, play, your mother is a witch."
The stout autumn crows strode with a businesslike air through the bare fields. The wind whistled coldly, and the birds caught its buffets on their backs. It blew their feathers apart, and even lifted them off their feet, and, yielding to its force, they lazily flapped their wings and flew to a new spot.
"But he cheated me; I see I have nothing----"
The mo
