"I don't care what we do if we can't get home," said Ned, ungraciously. "I suppose it will be just as stupid in one place as another!"
"Do behave yourself, Ned!" said Herbert, in an undertone. "You make me perfectly ashamed of you!" Then turning to the clergyman, he accepted the invitation with many thanks, feeling that it would indeed be pleasanter for Agatha than spending the night at a hotel. But as it turned out, they were to spend it neither at the hotel nor at the doctor's.
The afternoon wore away, and still the snow fell thicker and faster every moment. The wind rose and whirled it in clouds over the fields or piled it up in fantastic drifts along the fences, and the track became sensibly obstructed. The conductor's usually imperturbable face wore a look of anxiety, and he seemed to spend much of his time in conference with the engineer. As he came in towards dark, the doctor remarked to him:
"We do not seem to make very rapid progress?"
"No, sir; the snow is growing very deep and drifts badly. I am almost afraid we shall not get through to E— to-night."
Agatha was absorbed in her story-book and did not hear, but the boys did, and exchanged glances. Frank rose from his seat and followed the conductor to the other end of the car.
"Do you really think we shall not get through to-night?" he asked, in a tone of anxiety.
"I can't say," replied the conductor, rather shortly; but, looking up and seeing Frank's disturbed face, he kindly made room for him on the seat, saying, as he did so, "You need not be frightened, my boy. The worst that can happen to us is to be snowed up at some country station all night."
"I am not frightened," said Frank, in a much more humble tone than he would have used in replying to such an imputation twelve hours before. "I don't mind for myself, I was thinking about Agatha."
"Is Agatha your sister?" asked the conductor.