Alas! cleverness had never been Chico’s strong point, and the present extremity did not inspire him with sagacity. He knew the way as little as his masters did, and would only dance about in an unmeaning way, and when ordered home crouch in abject entreaty. Jock grew impatient and threatened him, but this only made him creep behind Armine, put his tail between his legs, hold up his little paw, and look piteously imploring.
“There’s no use in the little brute,” sighed Jock at last, but the attempt had done him good and recalled his nerve and good sense.
“We are in for a night of it,” he said, “unless they find us; and how are they ever to do that in this beastly fog?”
“We must halloo,” said Armine, attempting it.
“Yes, and we don’t know when to begin! We can’t go on all night, you know,” said Jock; “and if we begin too soon, we may have no voice left just at the right time.”
“It is half-past seven now,” said Armine, looking at his watch. “The food was to be at seven, so they must have missed us by this time.”
“They won’t think anything of it till it gets dark.”
“No. Give them till half-past eight. Somewhere about nine or half-past it may be worth while to yodel.”
“And how awfully cold it will be by that time. And my foot is aching like fun!”
Armine offered to rub it, and there was some occupation in this and in watching the darkening of the evening, which was very gradual in the dense white fog that shut them in with a damp, cold, moist curtain of undeveloped snow.