"Then don't begin to look for 'em till later in the day; it'll make you crazy to watch the snow-flakes while they're whirlin' 'round the tower at sich a rate."
Once in the kitchen Uncle Zenas took up his work, sewing feverishly, and keeping his eyes fixed on the garment as if he was afraid to look out of doors, while Sidney walked nervously from one window to another in silence.
When it seemed to the lad as if a full day had passed, the old man asked in a half-whisper:
"Do you reckon we'd better get dinner, Sonny?"
"I couldn't swallow a mouthful. It seems as if I'd never want any more to eat."
"That's about the way I'm feelin', Sonny, an' perhaps it won't do any good to force ourselves. I'll make a big lot of coffee, so we'll have plenty of hot drink for Cap'n Eph an' Sammy when they get back. I reckon they'll be more'n half frozen."
"I only wish I knew they would come back!" Sidney said as if to himself, and Uncle Zenas cried with more of hopefulness in his tone than he had indulged in since his comrades went out:
"We're bound to think they'll come, Sonny. There's no sense in dwellin' on the dark side of things, an' we've got to keep our spirits up. You shall help me build a roarin' fire, for it ain't any ways certain we won't have half-drownded strangers here before a great while."
It was a positive relief to have something in the nature of work to do, and Sidney obeyed eagerly, bringing coal from the odd cellar, shaking the ashes from the grate, and brushing up the dust which had fallen to the floor.
When he went back to the window again it seemed as if he could see a dark shadow through the snow to the southward of the ledge, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that he could prevent himself from crying aloud.