She did as she was bidden, with a furtive glance at the mound under the blankets. Her mother soon had her dressed in a sort of brownish red flannel frock, and a blue and white checked apron. Then she brushed out her silky hair, and made three or four thick curls.
"Oh, isn't it funny! Why, we can't see anything, not a house, or a tree, nor grandad's."
They could see that in almost any storm.
She went and patted Judy. Gran'mere was frying bacon, and when that was brown and crisp, she slipped some eggs in the pan. Grandfather kept his bed late winter mornings, and only wanted a bit of toast and a cup of coffee. That was generally made by roasting wheat grains, with a tiny bit of corn, and made very fair coffee. But it was necessity then, not any question of nerves or health.
So they ate their breakfast and everything seemed quite as usual except the snow. So far there had been none to speak of. Gran'mere put out the candle, and the room was in a sort of whitey-gray light.
There was queer, muffled banging outside, that came nearer, and finally touched the door, and a voice said "Hello! hello!"
Barbe opened it. There was grandad, in his frieze coat and fur cap, a veritable Santa Claus.
"Well, was there ever the beat of this! Stars out at twelve? The old woman's geese are gettin' plucked close to the skin. Why, it's furious! Dilly, come out and let me tumble you in the snow bank."
"I'd have to dig you out again. How is the lad? Did we upset grandfather with the racket?"