Weary, depressed and bitterly cold, they made their way back to the old mansion. Many a slip marked the way, and many a stifled cry escaped from the girls in spite of their determination to be brave.
Nat hurried to the Fire Bird, and was not disappointed in his quest, for he brought back to the waiting ones a bundle of such food as the thoughtful Norah made a practice of slipping into the car when the young folks went for a long run.
"Well, that's lucky," commented Tom. "And let us get right at it. Nothing better to ward off cold than a good feed."
"Where?" asked Tavia, referring to the place to eat, not to the location of a possible cold.
Nat brought the machine lamps and placed one on either corner of the broad, low mantel in the dining-room. It was not difficult to know this room from the others, for frescoed mottoes, still clear enough to be made out, invited all strangers, as well as those who roofed therein, to "eat, drink and be merry," and otherwise.
"We must imagine ourselves a jolly hunting party," said Dorothy, "just brought in from a sudden storm. The young lord has invited us, of course."
"An awful stretch," remarked Nat. "I would not be particular about the lord's age if he would only make good just about now."
"And are we really here—for—the night?" gasped Tavia, swallowing a morsel of the sandwich Nat handed her.
"Oh, we may get out," answered Tom, none too hopefully. "But if we don't we must make the best of it. It's too bad for you girls, though."
"Yes," added Nat, his tone following Tom's in its unmistaken note of regret. "I was a fool not to listen to Uncle Frank's knee."