“Terry and I were going out for a walk in it,” whispered Arden, “and to gather some holly branches to decorate the place here for Christmas. We hoped you and Sim would come, but if she has a headache I guess we’ll postpone the trip.”
“No reason why you should,” Dorothy argued, walking to the head of the stairs with the others to avoid whispering so much outside Sim’s door. “I’ll stay here with her. I don’t feel much like walking in the snow, though I love fresh-grown holly. Get all you can, and by the time you come back I’ll be ready to help decorate, and perhaps Sim’s head will be better.”
“All right,” agreed Arden. “I have my mind set on it, and I don’t like to change. You’ll come, Terry?”
“Oh, yes.”
Dot had her coffee, the other girls making a more substantial breakfast, and then, leaving Sim still asleep and Dot on guard, Terry and Arden set out into the storm. The flakes were coming down rapidly now, dry, small flakes that seemed to presage a heavy fall. It was not yet deep, but would be, as none was melting.
“Oh, it’s so lovely!” murmured Arden raising her face to let the snowflakes melt on it.
“You seem to have quite a yen on for storms,” remarked Terry, laughing.
“I always have had. Now we must step out. It’s quite a distance to the old Hall, and it’s slow walking in the snow.”
“I’m equal to it,” declared Terry, bracing up and dashing forward.
They trudged along, laughing and talking—talking principally of the advent of Harry Pangborn and his declaration that he would do some real investigating of the mysterious happenings in Jockey Hollow.