Both Meg and Bobby knew where the road was. They had driven over it with Sam in the car, and they had walked it many a time in the summer. Then why it should perversely disappear just at the time when they needed it most was something neither one was ever able to explain. But disappear it did—that ill-natured country road completely ran away from them.
"We've walked awful far," sighed Meg, breathless from fighting against the wind which blew the snow into their faces so sharply that each flake stung. "Where do you suppose that road is, Bobby?"
Bobby was carefully carrying the eggs. He had no intention of losing those.
"I guess we'll find it," he assured his sister cheerfully. "Are your hands cold, Meg? Here, hold this heater a minute."
Meg's hands in her muff were quite comfortable, and she opened her mouth to say so to Bobby. But without warning she slipped down out of sight before she had time to say a word.
"Meg!" shouted Bobby. "Meg! Are you hurt?"
Meg's delighted little laugh bubbled up to him.
"Oh, Bobby," she gurgled. "I guess I've found the road. Look out for that bank I fell down. I'm sure this is a road. You come and see."
Bobby cautiously scrambled down the bank, over which Meg had slipped, and joined his sister. Meg was on her feet again, and trying to brush the snow off her coat and out of her collar.
"It is a road, isn't it?" she asked anxiously.