The house, substantial as it was, shook with the fury of the raging tempest. Long before night, the whole lower floor was in darkness and the storm unabated. The city below was invisible. All day and night the storm continued and Monday morning brought no change.
Reuben managed to keep the way to the woodhouse passable and the fires burning, although the barn was invisible from the house. His devoutly religious nature caused him to spend most of his leisure time in prayer and reading the Bible.
“Oh, well,” said Margaret, as she deftly fished out the nut-brown crullers from a skillet of hot fat, “life is a misery an’ I can’t nohow unde’stan’ it, but I sholy do mean to live as long as I ken. Po’ Massa Jack an’ dem sweet chillen all undah dis snow!” and her tears flowed afresh.
On Wednesday morning the air cleared and by noon the thermometer, which had registered zero, rose to twenty. The sun coming out melted the surface, that formed a crust which precluded further drifting.
Reuben and Mr. De Vere were working their way to the imprisoned animals in the barn, which seemed an endless task. It was quite dark when they accomplished it and sounds of distress greeted them when at last the door was forced open. None of the animals in the barn were seriously injured and they were quickly attended to; but in the chicken-house, which was built against the mountain side, every inmate was found frozen stiff—probably smothered—as the building was completely covered with snow.
Hungry as wolves, Mr. De Vere and Reuben returned to the house for supper, thankful that, excepting the chickens, none of the stock was injured. The path they had made resembled an alley with the snow piled up fully six feet at the sides.
As they neared the kitchen, Margaret’s melodious voice rang out:
“Dat awful Day, dat drefful Day,
When hebben an’ earth shall pass away.
De’s a l’il’ wheel er-turnin’ in my soul,