wish t we'd waited till a pleasanter day, for this Union road is
all up hill or down, and we shan't get over the ground fast, it's
so rough. Don't forget, when you go into Scott's, to say I want
all the trimmin's when they send me the pork, for mebbe I can try
out a little mite o' lard. The last load o' pine's gone turrible
quick; I must see if "Bijah Flagg can't get us some cut-rounds at
the mills, when he hauls for Squire Bean next time. Keep your
mind on your drivin', Rebecca, and don't look at the trees and
the sky so much. It's the same sky and same trees that have been
here right along. Go awful slow down this hill and walk the hoss
over Cook's Brook bridge, for I always suspicion it's goin' to
break down under me, an' I shouldn't want to be dropped into that
fast runnin' water this cold day. It'll be froze stiff by this
time next week. Hadn't you better get out and lead"--

The rest of the sentence was very possibly not vital, but at any
rate it was never completed, for in the middle of the bridge a
fierce gale of wind took Miss Miranda's Paisley shawl and blew it
over her head. The long heavy ends whirled in opposite directions
and wrapped themselves tightly about her wavering bonnet. Rebecca
had the whip and the reins, and in trying to rescue her
struggling aunt could not steady her own hat, which was suddenly
torn from her head and tossed against the bridge rail, where it
trembled and flapped for an instant.

"My hat! Oh! Aunt Miranda, my hateful hat!" cried Rebecca, never
remembering at the instant how often she had prayed that the
"fretful porcupine" might some time vanish in this violent
manner, since it refused to die a natural death.