"Humph!" retorted Tom. "Once we get outside I guess we can dig our way to the spring."
At last the door yielded and swung open. A mass of snow blew in upon them. Dick leaped at the white wall beyond and began plying his shovel vigorously.
"It's light, and can be easily handled," he called back over his shoulder.
So Dave waited until Dick had made a start of three or four feet. Then he moved out beside his chum, while Greg, the iron shovel in hand, stood at hand waiting for the other two to make room enough for him to be able to help them.
Bump! went the door, for those inside, without coats or exercise, felt the cold that rushed into the cabin.
"Where to?" called Dave, for the wind carried their voices off in the howling blast. "To the spring?"
"We'd better," Dick replied, "as we're out of water."
Between the depth of the snow and the fury of the storm the Grammar School boys quickly discovered that they had taken a huge task upon themselves. After more than ten minutes of laborious shoveling all three paused, as by common consent, and looked at the work accomplished. They had gone barely a dozen feet, and under foot, all the way back to the cabin door, the snow was still some two feet deep.
The distance from the door to the spring being some ninety feet, it was plain that more than an hour would be needed for digging the way to the spring.
"What's the use of all this trouble?" shouted Greg. "We can melt snow, anyway."