For two days the storm continued unabated, the whole country becoming
like an undulating ocean of snow. Drift snow, mountain high, was
accumulated in the valleys between hills; whole herds of sheep and
cattle were suffocated; and the bodies of several teamsters, whose teams
were overset, were dug out lifeless from under the drifts by the men who
had assembled with their ox teams and shovels to open the interrupted
communication with the city.

Father O'Shane bemoaned his fate in doleful terms; the more so as Sunday
was approaching, when he feared he should be absent from his
congregation; and he also regretted that he had it not in his power,
according to his promise to the widow O'Clery, to visit her next day,
and provide for her poor orphans among the benevolent of his flock. And,
well aware of the character of the hard-hearted Van Stingey, he
shuddered for the fate of the children.

The apprehensions of the good priest were not groundless; for no sooner
was the body of Mrs. O'Clery consigned to its narrow, cold habitation,
than the official, assisting the children into the sleigh that had borne
their mother's body to the tomb, drove off in a rapid trot towards the
poorhouse.

"Have we far to go yet, sir?" said Paul, thinking that the "county
house" was something different from the much dreaded poorhouse. "I am
afraid Bridget will perish with cold, sir."

"No fears of her; she's hardy, I guess."

"Yes, sir, but her dress is so very light."