"Well, but can't we go to them, if you know the way?"
"That's just what I don't know, with all this snow about. The farm is behind that hill somewhere; but I could no more take you there than fly. Besides, who could wade up to their necks in snow for half a mile, let alone three?"
"But the snow won't be so deep on the fells as in these cuttings."
"That's true, I suppose. But get into a drift on the fell—and, Lord, that would be easy enough—you're done. And there's becks deep enough to drown a man, and you'll never see them till you're up to your chin in their icy waters. I wouldn't chance it for anything. We mun wait here till we're dug out, sir, and that's all about it."
"Where is that farm, guard? Behind which shoulder of the fell?"
"Look here, Acton," began Dick Worcester, apprehensively, "I'm hanged if we're going to let you go groping about for any blessed farm in this storm. We'll eat the coals in the tender first!"
"Thanks, Dick. Which shoulder, guard?"
The man explained as fully and elaborately as if he might as well talk as think. The shoulder of the fell was noted by Acton exactly and carefully, even to borrowing a compass pendant off Todd's historic watch—chain.
"It lies exactly N.N.E., and one could find one's way in the dark if that were all."
"But it isn't, Acton," said Grim, anxiously, "not by a long chalk. Oh, Acton, don't go!"