One afternoon in the beginning of December two of Dick’s school-fellows said to him—
“We are going over the hills to our uncle’s farm, Dick. Will you go with us?”
When there was nothing better to do, Dick was always ready for a walk, and he at once agreed to accompany the Jacksons. The elder boy was about his own age, the younger two years his junior.
The Jacksons called for him directly he had finished his dinner, and they started away together for a farm which was about four miles distant. They struck right across the hills, as it would have been two miles longer by the nearest road.
“I should not be surprised,” Dick said, “if it were to snow to-night; it is bitterly cold, and the clouds look very heavy.”
“I hope it won’t snow until we get back,” James, the younger of the brothers, remarked.
“I don’t know,” Dick answered, looking at the clouds. “I should not be surprised if it began at any moment.”
The wind was blowing strongly. The hills were high and steep, and, although the boys made their best speed, it was considerably over an hour before they reached the farm. They had started at two, and it was now a quarter past three. Mr Jackson was out. The boys delivered the message with which they had been charged to their aunt.
“Now,” she said, “I will cut you each a hunch of cake, and when you have eaten that and had a glass of fresh milk you had best start at once. It is bitterly cold, and we are going to have snow: The sooner you are home, the better.”
The boys now ate their cake. Mrs Jackson came to the door with them. Then she said, as the first flake of snow fell—