“And can’t see even the path,” yelled Tom, “This snow must have fallen all in one piece.”

“If it only would not get dark so quickly,” Tavia sobbed, for, indeed, the girl was almost crying—­the matter had become very serious—­darkness, snowdrifts and wilderness.

“Wait!” called Tom, feeling that Tavia might not be so alarmed if all were closer together.

Nat and Dorothy stood until the others came up.

Then all four trudged on again.  However, could they cover a half mile at that rate?

“We ought to have brought an auto lamp,” said Nat.

No sooner had he uttered the words than he slipped, Dorothy fell with him, Tom and Tavia tumbled, full drive, after them, and all were plunged into a hole deep enough to terrify the girls and even to alarm the boys.

“Well,” exclaimed Tom, as quickly as he could get speech, “that hole was covered up with a light blanket.”

Tavia and Dorothy succeeded in getting to their feet almost as promptly as did the boys, but the shock and the heavy snow had now almost exhausted both.

“Oh,” sighed Dorothy, “I don’t see how we can ever walk a half mile in this?”

“Nor I,” answered Nat “We’ve got to turn back.  We can have shelter, at least, in the castle, and there’s likely to be some food in the machine.  Norah always pokes a bundle in for a trip like this.”

Weary, depressed and bitterly cold, they made their way back to the old mansion.  Many a slip marked the way, and many a stifled cry escaped from the girls in spite of their determination to be brave.

Nat hurried to the Fire Bird, and was not disappointed in his quest, for he brought back to the waiting ones a bundle of such food as the thoughtful Norah made a practice of slipping into the car when the young folks went for a long run.

“Well, that’s lucky,” commented Tom.  “And let us get right at it.  Nothing better to ward off cold than a good feed.”

“Where?” asked Tavia, referring to the place to eat, not to the location of a possible cold.

Nat brought the machine lamps and placed one on either corner of the broad, low mantel in the dining-room.  It was not difficult to know this room from the others, for frescoed mottoes, still clear enough to be made out, invited all strangers, as well as those who roofed therein, to “eat, drink and be merry,” and otherwise.

“We must imagine ourselves a jolly hunting party,” said Dorothy, “just brought in from a sudden storm.  The young lord has invited us, of course.”

“An awful stretch,” remarked Nat.  “I would not be particular about the lord’s age if he would only make good just about now.”

“And are we really here—­for—­the night?” gasped Tavia, swallowing a morsel of the sandwich Nat handed her.

“Oh, we may get out,” answered Tom, none too hopefully.  “But if we don’t we must make the best of it.  It’s too bad for you girls, though.”