“Yes, thank you,” answered Freda. “An accident has happened, hasn’t it?”
“Ay, we’re snawed oop. Wheer were ye going to, missie? To Presterby?”
“Yes. Is it far?”
“A matter o’ nine mile or so.”
“And you don’t think we can get there to-night?”
“Noa. We’re fast. But there’s an inn nigh here, a little pleace, but better shelter nor this, an’ we could get food an’ foire theer. Ah’m afreed ye’ll find it rough getting through t’ snaw. But we must try an’ manage it, or ye’ll die o’ cawld.”
Freda hesitated.
“I suppose there’s no way of letting my father know!”
“Who is your father, missie?”
“Captain Mulgrave, of St. Edelfled’s, Presterby.”