"Is it snowing?" queried Mrs. Murchiston, from the warmest nook
beside the hearth. "Aren't the girls out with you, Tom?"

"What's the matter, my son?" demanded his father, getting up
quickly. "What has happened?"

"I don't know that anything has happened," said Tom, swallowing a
big lump in his throat, and trying to speak calmly. "The girls have
not been with us. They went into the woods somewhere to get stuff for
their pillows. And it is snowing harder than I ever knew it to snow
before."

"Oh, Tom!" gasped the governess.

"Come! we'll go out and see about this at once," cried his father,
and began to get into his out-of-door clothing, including a pair of
great boots.

"Is it snowing very hard, Tom?" queried the lady, anxiously. "What
makes you look so?"

For Tom was scared--and he showed it. He turned short around without
answering Mrs. Murchiston again, and led the way to the kitchen. The
other boys had shaken off the snow and were hovering over the range
for warmth.

"Found 'em all right; didn't you?" demanded Bob Steele.

"No. They haven't come in," said Tom, shortly, and immediately Bob