"
"That's just where I am, father--lying on her back, and pretty
comfortable," I rejoined.
All this time the snow was falling thick. If it went on like this, I
should be buried before morning, and the fact that the wind was rising
added to the danger of it. We were at the wrong end of the night too.
"I'm in a kind of ditch, I think, father," I cried--the place we fell
off on one side and a stone wall on the other."
"That can hardly be, or I shouldn't have got out," he returned. "But
now I've got Missy quiet, I'll come to you. I must get you out, I see,
or you will be snowed up. Woa, Missy! Good mare! Stand still."
The next moment he gave a joyous exclamation.
"What is it, father?" I cried.
"It's not a stone wall; it's a peat-stack. That _is_ good."
"I don't see what good it is. We can't light a fire."
"No, my boy; but where there's a peat-stack, there's probably a
house."
He began uttering a series of shouts at the top of his voice,
listening between for a response. This lasted a good while. I began to
get very cold.
"I'm nearly frozen, father," I said, "and what's to become of the poor
mare--she's got no clothes on?"
"I'll get you out, my boy; and then at least you will be able to move
about a little."
I heard him shovelling at the snow with his hands and feet.
"I have got to the corner of the stack, and as well as I can judge you
must be just round it," he said.
Pages:
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243