With a snort of excitement she laid low her head, took the bit firmly
between her teeth, and started up the river like a whirlwind. The more
Parson John shouted and tugged at the reins the more determined she
became. The ice fairly flew from beneath her feet, and the trailing froth
flecked her black hide like driving snow. Neck and neck the horses raced
for some time, while Fraser grinned with delight at the success of his
scheme.

Before long the funeral procession came into view, making for the little
church near the graveyard on the opposite shore. Parson John was feeling
most keenly the position in which he was so unfortunately placed. He could
see only one way out of the difficulty, and that was to leave Fraser
behind. Therefore, before the first sleigh of the funeral procession was
reached he gave Midnight the reins, and thus no longer restrained she drew
gradually away from her opponent. On she flew, past the staring, gaping
people, and for a mile beyond the church.

By this time Fraser was so far in the rear that he gave up the race.
Beaten and crestfallen he turned to the left, made for the shore and
disappeared.

At length Parson John was able to bring Midnight under control, when she
trotted quietly down the river with a triumphant gleam in her handsome
eyes. After the funeral had been conducted, a group at once surrounded the
parson and questioned him concerning the strange occurrence on the river.
Some were pleased with Fraser's ignominious defeat, and treated it as a
huge joke. But others were sorely scandalized. What would the members of
the other church in Glendow say when they heard of it? To think that their
clergyman should be racing on the river, and on a Sunday, too, while on
his way to attend a funeral--the most solemn of all occasions!