The wind lifted as he went along and soon he felt damp particles of snow upon his face.
“A storm,” said Ben. “I trust it will not block the road, if it prove that I must go on to Philadelphia.”
The fall increased; and the wind took up the flakes, whirling them about madly. In a very short time the night began to lighten, for the snow clung to the trees and bush and so mantled the earth as to make things rather plain to be seen.
“I must be more careful than ever now,” Ben told himself, his eyes sharply ahead. “If they should chance to be hiding near the road I am sure to be observed.”
To prevent this he left the road and began making his way through a thin growth of tall pines. The ground was thick with a carpet of needles, over which lay the light snow, so his footsteps were soft and cat-like. Suddenly ahead there loomed a sort of barrier of boughs, and from behind it came the faint sparkle of fire.
With increased caution the boy advanced, and as he drew near to the boughs, he caught the murmur of a voice. The sound continued, and Ben fancied that it must be some persons engaged in conversation; but upon approaching the sound he was astonished to discover that it was some one singing.
“Oh, ye Irish lads of fair renown,
Come listen unto me,
And I’ll relate a bitter fate
That happened on the sea.