nine o'clock before
what I saw on New-Year 's night ; but I knew not if I were to count that as human or what . I remember that Sunday night after I finished the letter to my mother which I put in the last chapter , how I found it darker than I expected when I went out , and how I ran along the snowbanks with my heart thumping like to split , and threw the letter in the top of the post-office door -LRB- the rightful opening was long before buried under the snow -RRB- and then shot back to the hotel , not daring to look behind me or even stop to breathe . I was well ashamed of myself , at the time , but I could not help it . On that night it was even nine o'clock before I could get up courage to go to the barn and feed the stock . I think I was in a greater state of terror than on the night after the battle with the wolves . I walked the floor , back and forth , on tiptoe and listened ; and the less there was to hear , the more I heard . At last I , after a fashion , put down my fright , and ventured out to the barn ; but even then I could not whistle ; I tried , but my lips would not stay puckered .