stooped down and patted her. My mind was sharing in my body's weakness,
and I could not reason, but I knew that help was at hand. A gray figure
came more and more distinctly out of the thick, close-pressing darkness.
It was Gregory wrapped in his maud.

"Oh, Gregory!" said I, and I fell upon his neck, unable to speak another
word. He never spoke much, and made me no answer for some little time.
Then he told me we must move, we must walk for the dear life--we must
find our road home, if possible; but we must move, or we should be frozen
to death.

"Don't you know the way home?" asked I.

"I thought I did when I set out, but I am doubtful now. The snow blinds
me, and I am feared that in moving about just now, I have lost the right
gait homewards."

He had his shepherd's staff with him, and by dint of plunging it before
us at every step we took--clinging close to each other, we went on safely
enough, as far as not falling down any of the steep rocks, but it was
slow, dreary work. My brother, I saw, was more guided by Lassie and the
way she took than anything else, trusting to her instinct. It was too
dark to see far before us; but he called her back continually, and noted
from what quarter she returned, and shaped our slow steps accordingly.
But the tedious motion scarcely kept my very blood from freezing. Every
bone, every fibre in my body seemed first to ache, and then to swell, and
then to turn numb with the intense cold. My brother bore it better than
I, from having been more out upon the hills. He did not speak, except to
call Lassie. I strove to be brave, and not complain; but now I felt the
deadly fatal sleep stealing over me.