When they came out onto the road, it was getting harder to see, since now the snow held steady and the sun was low. They looked up the hill toward Mr. Buxton’s dairy farm and down the road toward home.
Papa stopped and turned to Samuel. “Son, we have a decision to make. I’d like to keep this pony and cart, but they’re not what your mother wanted.”
Samuel looked at Dolly. He looked at the reins in his hands. “I could be more help around the farm with this pony and cart,” he said.
“That’s so,” said Papa.
“And I don’t suppose we’ll ever have a chance like this again,” said Samuel.
“That’s so as well. At least, not until you’d be tall enough to ride a full-size horse.”
“But that won’t be very long from now, will it?”
Papa smiled. “Not very long at all. And no one could dispute the fact that you’ve done a man’s job today.”
“Do you think Mr. Buxton would trade us a milk cow for Dolly and her cart?”
“We won’t know until we ask,” Papa said.
The road led up the hill and past a forest of tall white pines. The branches dipped under the snow that fell thick upon them, and sometimes they sprang up when a gust blew the flakes off into a whirlwind.
Dolly walked steadily on the slick road. Samuel felt her sureness through the reins, even when she tossed her head back and forth to shed the snow. She was a good pony, and Samuel wished again, just a little bit, it wasn’t a brown-eyed cow his mother was wanting.