obliged to leave them," advised
Gwen, coming back from an observation at the front door with an anxious
line on her forehead; for the storm was rapidly increasing, and there
was no sign of Pat or the horses.

The rest were in high glee, and an hour or two slipped quickly away as
they enjoyed the impromptu feast and played games. Gus recalled them to
the discomforts of their situation by saying with a yawn and a
whimper,--

"I'm so sleepy! I want my own bed and mamma."

"So do I!" echoed Rita, who had been nodding for some time, and longed
to lie down and sleep comfortably anywhere.

"Almost eight o'clock! By Jove, that old Pat _is_ taking his time, I
think. Wonder if he has got into trouble? We can't do anything, and may
as well keep quiet here," said Mark, looking at his watch and beginning
to understand that the joke was rather a serious one.

"Better make a night of it and all go to sleep. Pat can wake us up when
he comes. The cold makes a fellow _so_ drowsy." And Bob gave a stretch
that nearly rent him asunder.

"I will let the children nap on the sofa. They are so tired of waiting,
and may as well amuse themselves in that way as in fretting. Come, Gus
and Rita, each take a pillow, and I'll cover you up with my shawl."

Gwen made the little ones comfortable, and they were off in five
minutes. The others kept up bravely till nine o'clock, then the bits of
candles were burnt out, the stories all told, nuts and apples had lost
their charm, and weariness and hunger caused spirits to fail
perceptibly.

"I've eaten five Baldwins, and yet I want more. Something filling and
good. Can't we catch a rat and roast him?" proposed Bob, who was a
hearty lad and was ravenous by this time.

"Isn't there anything in the house?" asked Ruth, who dared not eat nuts
for fear of indigestion.

"Not a thing that I know of except a few pickles in the storeroom; we
had so many, mamma left some here," answered Gwen, resolving to
provision the house before she left it another autumn.

"Pickles alone are rather sour feed. If we only had a biscuit now, they
wouldn't be bad for a relish," said Tony, with the air of a man who had
known what it was to live on burnt bean-soup and rye flapjacks for a
week.

"I saw a keg of soft-soap in the shed. How would that go with the
pickles?" suggested Bob, who felt equal to the biggest and acidest
cucumber ever grown.

"Mamma knew an old lady who actually did eat soft-soap and cream for her
co