“My feet are so cold; they hurt dreadfully.”
“Oh, never mind,” Dick said. “Come, boys, push along, and we shall soon be home.”
Again they started with heads bent to face the storm.
“It is getting dark awfully fast,” Tom Jackson said.
“It is, and no mistake. Come, let us have a trot. Come on, young one.”
But, although Dick spoke hopefully, he was not as confident as he appeared. He was sure now that they had lost the way. They might not, he hoped, be far off the track; but he knew that they were not following the precise line by which they came.
It was now nearly dark. The snow was falling thicker than ever, and the ground, except upon the uplands exposed to the full force of the wind, was covered with a white mantle.
On arriving at the bottom of a steep hill, they stopped again.
“Do you know where we are, Tom?”
“Not in the least,” Tom answered.