Mr. Driggs and Mr. Steadman's eyes met.
"If he's any place," said Bertie cheerfully, "he'll be there."
To the Watson's Mr. Steadman and Mr. Driggs determined to go, although, by this time the evening was well advanced.
The storm had piled the snow into huge drifts which completely filled the railway cuts, but fortunately for those who travelled the sleigh roads, the snow was packed so hard that horses could walk safely over it. Bridges over ravines were completely covered, people made tunnels to the doors of their stables, and in some cases had to dig the snow away from their windows to let the light in. But the sun had come out warm, and the weather prophets said it was the last storm of the season.
When Mr. Steadman and Mr. Driggs approached the Watson home, they found every window lighted and several sleighs in the yard. From the house came sounds of laughter and many voices.
"There is no funeral here," said Mr. Driggs lightly.
George Steadman shuddered, "he may never have reached here," he said in a voice of awe.
They knocked at the woodshed door, but no one heard them. Then they went quietly in, and finding the kitchen door open, went in.
Mr. Watson, who stood at the door of the "room," shook hands with them quietly, and said in a whisper:—
"They're acting tableaux now, just step up to the door and see them.
The children are having a party. Pearl will explain it in a minute.
Just step in and watch; you're just in time—they're just goin' to do
King Canute."