"TAKE him!" Mr. Peck emitted an acrid bark of laughter. "I guess HE'S at
Beasley's, all right."

"No, he isn't; he's at home--at Mrs. Apperthwaite's--playing cards."

"What!"

"I happen to know that he'll be there all evening."

Mr. Peck smote his palms together. "Grist!" he called, over his
shoulder, and his colleague struggled forward. "Listen to this: even
Dowden ain't at Beasley's. Ain't the Lord workin' fer us to-night!"

"Why don't you take Dowden with you," I urged, "if there's anything you
want to show him?"

"By George, I WILL!" shouted Peck. "I've got him where the hair's short
NOW!"

"That's right," said Grist.

"Gentlemen"--Peck turned to the others--"when we git to Mrs.
Apperthwaite's, jest stop outside along the fence a minute. I recken
we'll pick up a recruit."

Shivering, we took up our way again in single file, stumbling through
drifts that had deepened incredibly within the hour. The wind was
straight against us, and so stingingly sharp and so laden with the
driving snow that when we reached Mrs. Apperthwaite's gate (which we
approached from the north, not passing Beasley's) my eyes were so full