But she was already past speech, almost past suffering; and realizing this even the boy’s brave spirit succumbed and he let his head fall on Benoni’s neck, wondering if he were also dying.
A few minutes later, the snow had covered them all with its warm blanket and the children lay beneath it, motionless, upon the back of their faithful horse, which feebly struggled on. Besides themselves there was no living thing upon that wide white plain; for even the roaming cattle which dwelt there had vanished somewhere. Death stared the wanderers in the face, but they had already passed beyond consciousness of that.
CHAPTER VII
AT THE END OF SEVEN DAYS
Mr. George Disbrow hated anything which interfered with his personal comfort. Also, he had “nerves” that, first and last, gave himself and his neighbors a deal of trouble. Like a caged creature he was pacing the refectory and, when his son Rupert entered, demanded:
“Any news?”
“No, father.”
“Humph! You’ll go all to pieces yourself next. Have you had your supper?”
“I—believe so. Yes—yes, indeed. I ate something a little while ago. It’s all right.”
“I tell you it’s all wrong. We never should have come to this beastly hole.”
“I certainly wish we hadn’t, but—under the circumstances—we are not the ones to complain. To please a crotchety old woman we did come, bringing disaster with us, and whatever treatment we receive we have deserved.”