"Don't be—yet," he said, reassuringly.
"But we may be snowed in here for a week!"
"Never mind—Mr. Switzer still has his pretzels, I believe."
She could not help laughing, in spite of their distress.
"Oh, poor daddy!" cried Alice, as she reached the sled, and Paul prepared to help her in, "he is trying to protect his poor throat." Mr. DeVere wore a heavy coat, the collar of which he had turned up, but even this seemed little protection, and he was now tying a silk handkerchief about his collar.
"I have the very thing for him!" cried Paul, taking off a muffler he wore.
"Oh, but you'll need that!" protested Alice, quickly.
"Not a bit of it—I'm as warm as toast," he answered. "Here you are, sir!" he called to Mr. DeVere, and when the latter, after a weak resistance, had accepted it (for he was really suffering from the cold), Alice thanked Paul with a look that more than repaid him for his knightly self-sacrifice.
The players were by now in the sled, which, in its damaged condition, had been let down as nearly level as possible. The blankets were pulled up over the side, and Mr. Macksey was preparing to unhitch one of the horses, and set off for help. Then one of the drivers gave a sudden cry, and came running up to his employer.
"Look!" he shouted. "The wind's shifted. It's blowing right across the top of this cut now. We'll be protected down here!"