The snow began to fall rapidly, and, what was worse, the wind
blew directly in our faces, so that sometimes my eyes were so
plastered up with snowflakes that I could scarcely see how to
drive. I never knew snow to fall with such violence. The
roadway in front of us, as far as I could see it, was soon one
unbroken stretch of white from fence to fence.

"This is the big storm of the season," said Uncle Beamish,
"and it is a good thing we started in time, for if the wind keeps
blowin', this road will be pretty hard to travel in a couple of
hours."

In about half an hour the wind lulled a little and I could
get a better view of our surroundings, although I could not see
very far through the swiftly descending snow.

"I was thinkin'," said Uncle Beamish, "that it might be a
good idee, when we get to Crocker's place, to stop a little, and
let you warm your fingers and nose. Crocker's is ruther more
than half-way to the pike."

"Oh, I do not want to stop anywhere," I replied quickly. "I
am all right."

Nothing was said for some time, and then Uncle Beamish remarked:

"I don't want to stop any more than you do, but it does seem
strange that we ain't passed Crocker's yit. We could hardly miss
his house, it is so close to the road. This horse is slow, but I