“They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank,
And farther there were none!”—
Virginia exclaimed, “For mercy sake, if you _must_ wail, do wail
something cheerful and lively. ‘The Boy stood on the Burning Deck,’ for
instance, would warm one up a bit, instead of that other shivery thing.”
By the time we reached our gate the storm was over, though the wind
was still sweeping restlessly over the hills. A dog belonging to a
neighbouring farmer jumped over the garden wall. He had evidently
called in the hope of getting a chance to settle a long-standing score
he had against my own innocent-looking animal, who was ever a terrible
fighter! We paid no attention to the dog, however, but hurried up the
path, only too thankful to see the lights of home, and glad that Eileen
had forgotten to pull down the dark blinds. Nevertheless, I wondered
that she did not open the door so soon as she heard the gate. I put my
hand on the latch, but to my surprise the door was locked! I rattled
the latch and knocked. The dog whined inside and gave impatient little
short barks which always mean a summons to someone to open the door and
let me in. But the door remained locked.