"What's the matter, my son?" demanded his father, getting up quickly. "What has happened?"
"I don't know that anything has happened," said Tom, swallowing a big lump in his throat, and trying to speak calmly. "The girls have not been with us. They went into the woods somewhere to get stuff for their pillows. And it is snowing harder than I ever knew it to snow before."
"Oh, Tom!" gasped the governess.
"Come! we'll go out and see about this at once," cried his father, and began to get into his out-of-door clothing, including a pair of great boots.
"Is it snowing very hard, Tom?" queried the lady, anxiously. "What makes you look so?"
For Tom was scared—and he showed it. He turned short around without answering Mrs. Murchiston again, and led the way to the kitchen. The other boys had shaken off the snow and were hovering over the range for warmth.
"Found 'em all right; didn't you?" demanded Bob Steele.
"No. They haven't come in," said Tom, shortly, and immediately Bob began pulling on his coat again.
"Oh, pshaw!" said Isadore. "They'll be all right."
