"But it doesn't look so from my window," said his cousin.
"Pshaw! all you can see is the lake. Snow blowed right across the ice, an' never scarcely touched it. But there's heaps and heaps in the road. Say! we got ter dig out Hillside Avenue—ain't we, Dad?"
"A lot of snow fell in the night—that's a fact," admitted Uncle Jason.
"But I see somebody coming up the street now," cried Janice, jumping up eagerly from the table.
It was Walky Dexter, plowing his way through the drifts in hip boots.
"This is sure a white Christmas!" he bawled from the gate. "I got suthin' for you, Janice. Hi tunket! can't git through this here gate, so I'll climb over it. Wal, Janice, a Merry Christmas to ye!" he added, as he stumped up upon the porch, and handed her a little package from Miss 'Rill.
"I am afraid not a very merry one, Walky," said the girl, shaking his mittened hand. "Come inside by the fire. Uncle Jason, where is that paper? I want Mr. Dexter to read it."
"Oh, dear, me!" murmured Walky, when he saw the heading of the Mexican telegraph despatch. Then, with his fur cap cocked over one ear, and his boots steaming on the stove hearth, he read the story through. "Oh, dear, me!" he said again.
"I want you to try to get me to Middletown, Walky," Janice said, with a little catch in her voice. "Right away."
"Mercy on us, child! a day like this?" gasped her aunt.