"There'll be drifts twenty feet deep in the cutting, and it'll be like running into a house," said the guard, slowly, "but I suppose we've got to try, anyhow."
He walked away thoughtfully to his van, and a moment later there was a shrill whistle, and the Lansdale local ran out into the night.
And it was a night! There was no moon, and not the least glimmer of a star overhead; an utter darkness shrouded the world. The wind was high and steady, and its mournful howling through the rocky cuttings of the railway sounded unspeakably melancholy. Driven by the gale, the snowflakes had in five minutes covered the windward side of the train with a winding-sheet, inches deep, and when Gus Todd, from curiosity, opened the window to peer out into the night, the flakes, heavy, large, and soft, whirled into the carriage a very cataract of snow.
"Don't, Gus, please," pleaded Acton, looking up from his book in astonishment at the snow glittering in the lamp-light; "I prefer that outside, thanks."
"It's an awful storm, Acton," said Gus, hastily drawing up the window. "Allah! how it snows!"
"Is this up to the usual sample here?" asked Senior, nestling nearer the dozing Dick.
"Well," said Acton, listening a moment to the stroke of the engine, and the roar of the wind, "I think we may say it is."
"Blizzard seems nearer the word, old man. The flakes come at you like snowballs."
"Shan't be sorry when we tread your ancestral halls. This weather is too-too for comfort. And don't we crawl!"
"We're rising," said Acton, "and it is uphill work. Hear the old tank groaning?"