“No doubt he does, about the way home,” said mamma, “and we won’t worry about papa, but have our supper and go to bed.  That’ll make the time seem short.”

The meal was soon eaten and cleared away, the fire carefully covered up on the hearth, and the whole little family quietly in bed.  Then the storm, which had been making ready all day, came down upon them in earnest.

The bleak wind howled around the corners, the white flakes by millions and millions came with it, and hurled themselves upon that house.  In fact, that poor little cabin alone on the wide prairie seemed to be the object of their sport.  They sifted through the cracks in the walls, around the windows, and under the door, and made pretty little drifts on the floor.  They piled up against it outside, covered the steps, and then the door, and then the windows, and then the roof, and at last buried it completely out of sight under the soft, white mass.

And all the time the mother and her three children lay snugly covered up in their beds fast asleep, and knew nothing about it.

The night passed away and morning came, but no light broke through the windows of the cabin.  Mrs. Barnes woke at the usual time, but finding it still dark and perfectly quiet outside, she concluded that the storm was over, and with a sigh of relief turned over to sleep again.  About eight o’clock, however, she could sleep no more, and became wide awake enough to think the darkness strange.  At that moment the clock struck, and the truth flashed over her.

Being buried under snow is no uncommon thing on the wide prairies, and since they had wood and cornmeal in plenty, she would not have been much alarmed if her husband had been home.  But snow deep enough to bury them must cover up all landmarks, and she knew her husband would not rest till he had found them.  To get lost on the trackless prairie was fearfully easy, and to suffer and die almost in sight of home was no unusual thing, and was her one dread in living there.

A few moments she lay quiet in bed, to calm herself and get control of her own anxieties before she spoke to the children.

“Willie,” she said at last, “are you awake?”

“Yes, mamma,” said Willie; “I’ve been awake ever so long; isn’t it most morning?”

“Willie,” said the mother quietly, “we mustn’t be frightened, but I think—­I’m afraid—­we are snowed in.”

Willie bounded to his feet and ran to the door.  “Don’t open it!” said mamma hastily; “the snow may fall in.  Light a candle and look out the window.”

In a moment the flickering rays of the candle fell upon the window.  Willie drew back the curtain.  Snow was tightly banked up against it to the top.

“Why, mamma,” he exclaimed, “so we are! and how can papa find us? and what shall we do?”

“We must do the best we can,” said mamma, in a voice which she tried to make steady, “and trust that it isn’t very deep, and that Tim and papa will find us, and dig us out.”