This explanation was quite satisfactory to Mrs. Worthington, but that
strange drift by the gate troubled Hugh, and the signal above it seemed
to him like a signal of distress. Why should the snow drift there more
than elsewhere? He never knew it do so before. He had half a mind to
turn out the dogs, and see what that would do.

"Rover," he called, suddenly, as he advanced to the rear room, where,
among his older pets, was a huge Newfoundland, of great sagacity.
"Rover, Rover, I want you."

In an instant the whole pack were upon him, jumping and fawning, and
licking the hands which had never dealt them aught save kindness. It was
only Rover, however, who was this time wanted, and leading him to the
door, Hugh pointed toward the gate, and bade him see what was there.
Snuffing slightly at the storm, which was not over yet, Rover started
down the walk, while Hugh stood waiting in the door. At first Rover's
steps were slow and uncertain, but as he advanced they increased in
rapidity, until, with a sudden bound and cry, such as dogs are wont to
give when they have caught their destined prey, he sprang upon the
mysterious ridge, and commenced digging it down with his paws.

"Easy, Rover--be careful," Hugh called from the door, and instantly the
half-savage growl which the wind had brought to his ear was changed into
a piteous cry, as if the faithful creature were answering back that
other help than his was needed there.

Rover had found something in that pile of snow.