It was standing almost leg-clear, in an angle of what seemed a drifted-over snake-fence. Its ugly, Roman-nosed head was thrown up and out, as if about to neigh.

“Poor beastie,” said Aladdin, after a start. “You must be direfful cold, but we’ll ride you, and that will make you warm, and us cold, and we’ll all get along faster.”

Drawing near, he began to gentle the horse and call it pet names. It was a huge brute, over seventeen hands high, and Aladdin, aided only by a rickety fence, and a pair of legs that would hardly support him, was appalled by the idea of having to climb to that lofty eminence, its back. Without doubt he was dreadfully tired.

“The fence will help, old man” he said. “Here, you, pay attention and get over.” He tried to insinuate himself between the horse and the fence, but the horse did not seem inclined to move.

“Get over, you!” he said, and gave a shove. The horse moved a little, very unwillingly. “Farther yet,” said Aladdin: “Get over, you, get over.” Again he shoved; this time harder. He slapped the great shoulder with his open hand. And again the horse moved, but very slowly. “You’re an unwilling brute, aren’t you?” he said angrily.

For answer the thing tottered, and, to his horror, began to fall, at first slowly, but ever with accelerating speed, until, in the exact attitude in which it had stood by the fence,—the great Roman-nosed head thrown up and out, as if to neigh,—he beheld the horse stretched before him on the ground, and noted for the first time the awful death-like glint of the yellow teeth through the parting of the lips.

He went very gravely from that place, for he had been looking upon death by freezing, and he himself was terribly cold, terribly tired, and—he admitted it now—completely lost.

But he went on for a long time—four or five hundred years. And it grew darker and colder.

He began to talk to himself, to try and steady himself, as he had done ever since childhood at forsaken times.

“Troubles,” he said, “You’re full of troubles, aren’t you, old man? You always were. But this is the worst. You can’t walk very much farther, can you? I can’t. And if you don’t get helped by some one pretty soon, you’re going to come to the end of your troubles. And, Troubles, do you know, I think that’s what’s going to happen to you and me, and I want you to stand up to it if it comes [gulp] and face it like a man. Now let’s rest a little, Troubles, will we?”

Troubles and Aladdin rested a little. When the rest was over they could hardly move, and they began to see the end of a young man that they had hoped would live a long time and be very happy. They went on.

“Troubles,” said Aladdin, “do you suppose she knows that we are out here, perhaps dying? We would know if she were, wouldn’t we? And do you think she cares? Liar, you know she cares, and a lot. She wouldn’t be she if she didn’t care. But we didn’t think that all the years of waiting and hoping and loving and trying to be something would end like this, did we, Troubles? We thought that it might end with the godlike Manners (whom we wouldn’t help if he were freezing to death, would we?), but not like this—O Lord God, not like this!... And we weren’t sure it would end with Manners; we were going to fight it out to a mighty good finish, weren’t we, Troubles? But now it’s going to end in a mighty good storm, and you’re going to die for all your troubles, Troubles... And I’m talking to you so that we won’t lose our sand, even if we are afraid to die, and there’s no one looking on.”

Though Aladdin stopped making talk in his head, the talk kept going on by itself; and he suddenly shouted aloud for it to stop. Then he began to whimper and shiver, for he thought that his mind was going.

Presently he shook himself.

“Troubles,” he said, “we’ve only a little farther to go—just as far as our feet will carry us, and no farther. That’s the proper way to finish. And for God’s sake keep sane. We won’t give her up yet!”

Ten steps and years passed.

“Troubles,” said Aladdin, “we’re going to call for help, and if it don’t come, which it won’t, we’re going to try and be calm. It seems simplest and looks best to be calm.”

Aladdin stood there crying aloud for the help of man, but it did not come. And then he cried for the help of God. And he stood there waiting—waiting for it to come.

“We must help ourselves, Troubles,” he said, with a desperate effort to be calm. “We’ve got ten steps left in us. Now, then, one—two—”

During the taking of those ten steps the snow ceased entirely to fall, and black night enveloped the earth.

Aladdin was all numb, and he wished to sleep, but he made the ten steps into eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, before his limbs refused to act, and he fell forward in the snow. He managed to raise himself and crawl a little way. He saw a light afar off, and guessing that it must be an angel, held out his hands to it—and one of them encountered a something in the dark.

Even through his thick mitten it felt round and smooth and colder than his fingers, like a ball of ice. Then Aladdin laughed aloud, for he knew that his last walk upon earth had been in the form of a silly circle. He had returned to the dead horse, and his gloved hand was resting upon its frozen eye. He shrieked with laughter and became heavy with a desire to sleep.

He sank deliciously down, and began to see showers of roses, when it flashed upon him that this was not sleep, but death.

It was like lifting prodigious dumb-bells to get his eyes to open, and a return to consciousness was like the stabbing of knives. But he opened his eyes and roused himself.

“I won’t give her up yet,” he cried.

And then, by the help of God Almighty, he crawled the whole length of the horse.

And fell asleep.