Indeed, they were sure they heard him skirmishing
about several times.
When we wakened in the morning the storm was over and a young
morning was looking through rosy eyelids across a white world.
The little clearing around Peg's cabin was heaped with dazzling
drifts, and we boys fell to and shovelled out a road to her well.
She gave us breakfast--stiff oatmeal porridge without milk, and a
boiled egg apiece. Cecily could NOT eat her porridge; she
declared she had such a bad cold that she had no appetite; a cold
she certainly had; the rest of us choked our messes down and after
we had done so Peg asked us if we had noticed a soapy taste.
"The soap fell into the porridge while I was making it," she said.
"But,"--smacking her lips,--"I'm going to make yez an Irish stew
for dinner. It'll be fine."
An Irish stew concocted by Peg! No wonder Dan said hastily,
"You are very kind but we'll have to go right home."
"Yez can't walk," said Peg.
"Oh, yes, we can. The drifts are so hard they'll carry, and the
snow will be pretty well blown off the middle of the fields. It's
only three-quarters of a mile. We boys will go home and get a
pung and come back for you girls."
But the girls wouldn't listen to this. They must go with us, even
Cecily.
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