"Good-night, children. Remember your promise to waken early!" said Miss Keren. "Happie, come to my room for a while. I want you."
The Archaics fulfilled their promise and aroused early. They wakened to a world in which only the higher objects survived. The snow had fallen steadily all night, fences were gone, shrubs stood huddled in shapeless obtrusion above the fields, and roads were not—a uniformly undefined surface made road and stonerow equal.
"Snowbound, by John G. Whittier!" exclaimed Bob coming into the dining room. He used the Quaker poet's name as if it were an affirmatory oath.
"BOB, GRETTA AND DON DOLOR BROKE THEIR WAY THROUGH THE SNOW"
"Nothing of the sort, Bob!" cried Happie. "We can't be snowbound, not by anybody—not even by snow. We must get to the station—don't you think we can?" she added with an anxious change of tone.
"I think if we must—and you are right that we must—we ought to start this morning," said Bob. "If this began to drift all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't get us through it. And knowing Crestville, it is safe to 'look for wind about this time,' as the almanacs say."
"Aunt Keren is ready to leave on the 11:26, if it is better," said Happie. "You will have to drive down to Jake's to let him know. And, oh, Bob, sit with me going down, for I've something to tell you, and I can't wait—besides they would all hear if I told you in the Patty-Pans."