That night there came another heavy fall, and when they awoke next morning it was found that the country was buried under a carpet of snow full three feet deep.
“Do you admit now, Master Trench, that the masts have gone by the board,” asked Paul, “and that it is impossible to carry sail any longer?”
“I admit nothing,” returned the captain grumpily.
“That’s right, daddy, never give in!” cried Oliver; “but what has Master Hendrick got to say to it?”
“We must turn in our tracks!” said the hunter gravely, “and make for home.”
“Home, indeed!” murmured the captain, whose mind naturally flew back to old England. “If we are to get to any sort of home at all, the sooner we set about making sail for it the better.”
There was something in the captain’s remark, as well as in his tone, which caused a slight flush on Hendrick’s brow, but he let no expression of feeling escape him. He only said—
“You are right, Captain Trench. We must set off with the least possible delay. Will you and your son start off in advance to get something fresh for breakfast while Master Paul and I remain to pack up and bring on our camp equipage? Hunters, you know, should travel light—we will do the heavy work for you.”
The captain was surprised, but replied at once—
“Most gladly, Master Hendrick, will I do your bidding; but as we don’t know what course to steer, won’t we be apt to go astray?”