The snow, it is
true, had for the present ceased to fall, but the blackness of the
sky was so great that the ground appeared light by comparison. A
wind, which sounded more like a wailing cry than any wind the
children had ever heard, seemed to fill the atmosphere.
It was not a noisy wind, and it came in gusts, dying away, and then
repeating itself. But for this wailing wind there was absolutely not
a sound, for every bird, every living creature, except the three
children and the dog, appeared to have vanished from the face of the
earth. Maurice, not caring about the weather, indifferent to these
signal flags of danger, was cross, for he wanted to talk to the
little lacemaker, and to learn how to manage her bobbins.
Cecile was wondering how soon they should reach a very small
village, and find a night's shelter in a tiny inn. Joe, better
appreciating the true danger, was full of anxious forebodings and
also self-reproach, for allowing himself to be guided by a child so
young and ignorant as Cecile. Still it never occurred to him to turn
back.
After all, it was given to Toby to suggest, though, alas! when too
late, the only sensible line of action. For some time, indeed ever
since they left Caen, the dog had walked on a little ahead of his
party, with his tail drooping, his whole attitude one of utter
despondency.
Once or twice he had looked back reproachfully at Cecile; once or
twice he had relieved his feelings with a short bark of utter
discomfort.
Pages:
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182