"The
food was to be at seven, so they must have missed us by this time."
"They won't think anything of it till it gets dark."
"No. Give them till half-past eight. Somewhere about nine or half-
past it may be worth while to yodel."
"And how awfully cold it will be by that time. And my foot is aching
like fun!"
Armine offered to rub it, and there was some occupation in this and
in watching the darkening of the evening, which was very gradual in
the dense white fog that shut them in with a damp, cold, moist
curtain of undeveloped snow.
The poor lads were thinly clad for a summer walk, Jock had left his
plaid behind him, and they were beginning to feel only too vividly
that it was past supper-time, when they could dimly see that it was
past nine, and began to shout, but they soon found this severe and
exhausting.
Armine suggested counting ten between each cry, which would husband
their powers and give them time to listen for an answer. Yet even
thus there was an empty, feeble sound about their cries, so that Jock
observed—-
"It's very odd that when there's no good in making a row, one can
make it fast enough, and now when it would be of some use, one seems
to have no more voice than a little sick mouse."
"Not so much, I think," said Armine.
Pages:
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374