WILL was digging a tunnel in the long drift. It was the longest drift
that Will had ever seen, and he had meant to have Harry help him, but
now they had quarrelled, and were never going to speak to each other as
long as they lived, so Will had to begin alone.
He dug and dug, taking up great solid blocks of snow on his shovel, and
tossing them over his shoulder in a workman-like manner. As he dug,
he kept saying to himself that Harry was the hatefullest boy he ever
saw in his life, and that he was glad he shouldn’t see anything more
of him. It would seem queer, to be sure, not to play with him every
day, for they had always played together ever since they put on short
clothes; but Will didn’t care. He wasn’t going to be “put upon,” and
Master Harry would find that out.
It was a very long drift. Will had never made such a fine tunnel; it
did seem a pity that there should be no one to play with him in it,
when it was done. But there was not a soul; for that Weaver boy was so
rude, he did not want to have anything to do with him, and there was no
one else of his age except Harry, and he should never see Harry again,
at least not to speak to.
Dig! dig! dig! How pleasant it would be if somebody were digging from
the other end, so that they could meet in the middle, and then play
robbers in a cave, or miners, or travellers lost in the snow. That
would be the best, because Spot could be the faithful hound, and drag
them out by the hair, and have a bottle of milk round his neck for
them to drink. Spot was pretty small, but they could wriggle along
themselves, and make believe he was dragging them. It would be fun! but
he didn’t suppose he should have any fun now, since Harry had been so
hateful, and they were never—no, never going to speak again, if it was
ever so—
What was that noise? Could it be possible that he was getting to the
end of the drift? It was as dark as ever,—the soft, white darkness of a
snowdrift; but he certainly heard a noise close by, as if some one were
digging very near him. What if—
Willy redoubled his efforts, and the noise grew louder and louder;
presently a dog barked, and Will started, for he knew the sound of the
bark. Just then the shovel sank into the snow and through it, and in
the opening appeared Harry’s head, and the end of Spot’s nose. “Hullo,
Will!” said Harry.
“Hullo, Harry!” said Will.
“Let’s play travellers in the snow!” said Harry. “This is just the
middle of the drift, and we can be jolly and lost.”
“All right!” said Will, “let’s!”
They had a glorious play, and took turns in being the traveller and the
pious monk of Saint Bernard; and they both felt so warm inside, they
had no idea that the thermometer was at zero outside.