“I’m afraid he’s used up,” said Max anxiously; “and I think—really I do—that we shall be in the same plight if we try to struggle against the storm. The wind is a perfect hurricane up here, and freezingly cold. Girls, I believe we had better spread our macintoshes on the snow, roll up in our rugs, and bivouac in the shelter of the wall. It is so low it will not protect us unless we squat on the ground.”
The youngsters were all in agreement, and at once set to work to carry out Max’s plan. The macintoshes were spread, the carriage-cushions fetched to provide seats, the parcels were ranged to act as “cover” on the exposed side, rugs and wraps were dealt out to everybody, and the bags of “goodies” were thankfully seized. While Austin and the girls finished the camp, Max laid the thick skin carriage-mat along Rough’s back, fastened it round him with his own blanket, and led the pony close up to the wall.
The buns and cakes were distributed by Frances, who had no heart to eat, but knew that moaning over Austin would not help him. He was wedged in tightly between the girls, and submitted like a lamb to be enveloped in wraps. Max took the outside place, and fed Rough with biscuits.
In spite of all precautions, the little group grew colder and damper; in spite of the most energetic attempts at cheerfulness, their spirits sank lower. The storm showed no signs of abating. While the youngsters were slowly being forced to recognize that their position was not only uncomfortable but perilous, a strong though flickering light, as of a powerful lantern swayed by the wind, was seen approaching them along the road from the direction of Woodend. The four watched it with keen eagerness. It came nearer—came close. It was a lantern, indeed, fixed to the front of a great hooded waggon drawn by two powerful horses.
The pony-carriage still lay half in, half out of the ditch. Max sprang to his feet and ran forward to warn the waggoner, who, having caught sight of the obstructions in his path, was already drawing up by the wall. The man was known to Max as a servant employed by a big farmer of the neighbourhood, and the boy lost no time in shouting to the amazed driver a cheery greeting and a peremptory demand for help out of his own dilemma. Not many words were needed. Job Benson recognized Max, and was quite willing to aid him and his companions.
Max rushed back to the others.
“Hurry, Austin! Up with you, girls! Here’s relief for the garrison at last! This waggoner is going to Rowdon Smithy before turning across country to his master’s farm; and he says he will take us as far as the smithy, where we shall get safe shelter until we’ve a chance to make our way home. We’ll tether Rough to the waggon, and the sight of his fellow-gees will encourage him to follow them. We must leave the trap in the ditch till to-morrow. Now let’s make haste, or the horses won’t stand.”
Rugs and shawls and bundles were grasped by the willing hands of the rescued travellers. Into the great waggon and its welcome shelter climbed the girls and boys as best they could, while the good-natured driver offered everybody a helping hand and heartily bade the whole troop welcome.
“I know the old man at the smithy,” said Max to his comrades, “and I’m sure he’ll give us a rest and a warm. Dad’s attending him just now; nothing much wrong but old age, you know. His name is William East, and he has a grandson, Jim, who is no end of a nice chap.”
The waggon followed a road across the Common for a time, and then, turning down a lane to lower ground, touched one of the country roads to Exham. Standing level with the road, a little back among a group of trees, were the cottage and outbuildings of Rowdon Smithy.