"How long has it been snowing?" Dave asked.
"Don't you fellows know?" Hen demanded.
"No; we were in here, getting supper and then eating it. We didn't know that it had even started to snow."
"It wasn't snowing at dark, but it began some time after," replied Hen, as he took the chair Dick offered and sank into it before the warming glow.
"Don't get too close to the fire until you thaw out a bit," advised Dick. "If you do you'll feel it more."
"I feel it now," groaned Hen, beginning to moan. "My hands are frozen stiff."
They weren't really frozen, though the hands had been badly nipped. It was twenty minutes before Hen Dutcher cared to move over to the table. Even then he complained severely of the "stinging" in his hands, feet and chin.
"I'm going out," proposed Dave, reaching for his cap and coat. "I'm going to see for myself just how cold it is."
No one offered to accompany Darrin. He paused, outside, to tap on one of the window panes. Two minutes after that he was back, pounding for admittance.
"Br-r-r-r!" Dave greeted his comrades, as he stepped inside. "Say, I don't want any more of being out to-night. I'll bet it's away down below zero. And how the wind howls and cuts!"