In came a figure—that of a boy. His cap was pulled down over his ears, and a big tippet obscured most of his face. But Dick grasped him by the shoulder as the youngster started to enter, followed by a heavy swirl of snow.
"What in the world are you doing here, Hen Dutcher?" Dick demanded.
"Yes! What are you doing here?" chorused the rest.
"Lemme get near the fire?" begged Hen, in a choking, sobbing voice. "I'm nearly frozen."
"Don't shut that door yet," called Dan, moving forward. "We didn't know it was snowing. I want to see if it's a big snow."
"You bet it is," chattered Hen. "It's a blizzard, and I don't care how soon that door is shut."
"You're not giving orders here, remember," retorted Dan crisply, as he went to the open doorway. The others, too, crowded to the doorway. It certainly was a big snow. The flakes were of the largest size, and coming down thickly to the tune of a moaning wind.
"It wasn't snowing at dark, and now there are at least four inches," cried Greg.
"Five inches," hazarded Dave.
"How many, Dick?"