"Lord, no, Miss! Small chance of getting to Mudge, or of Mudge getting
to us. Why, the snow is half-way up the front door!"

Bed was deliciously warm, and the air in the room nipping, as Dorothea
found when she stretched out her hand for the cup.

"I always like waking in this room. It gives one a sort of betwixt and
between feeling--between being at home and on a visit. To be snowed-up
makes it quite an adventure."

"Pretty adventure for the gentry at 'The Dogs'! Tom Ryder, the dairyman
there, managed to struggle across just now with the milk, and he says
that a score of them couldn't get beds in the town for love or money.
The rest kept it up till four in the morning, and now they're sleeping
in their fine dresses round the fire in the Orange Room."

Dorothea laughed. "They were caught like this just eighteen years ago--
let me see--yes, just eighteen. I remember, because it was my second
ball. But then there were no prisoners filling up the lodgings, so
everyone found a room."

"Some of the French gentlemen gave up their lodgings last night, and
are down at 'The Dogs' now keeping themselves warm. There's that old
Admiral, for one. I'm sure he never ought to be out of bed, with his
rheumatics. It's enough to give him his death. Sam Zeally says that
General Rochambeau is looking after him, as tender as a mother with a
babby."

Polly mimicked Sam's pronunciation, and laughed. She was Somerset-born