my grandfather had lived in Nebraska. He said at dinner that we would
not try to reach the cattle--they were fat enough to go without their
corn for a day or two; but tomorrow we must feed them and thaw out their
water-tap so that they could drink. We could not so much as see the
corrals, but we knew the steers were over there, huddled together under
the north bank. Our ferocious bulls, subdued enough by this time, were
probably warming each other's backs. 'This'll take the bile out of 'em!'
Fuchs remarked gleefully.

At noon that day the hens had not been heard from. After dinner Jake and
Otto, their damp clothes now dried on them, stretched their stiff arms
and plunged again into the drifts. They made a tunnel through the snow
to the hen-house, with walls so solid that grandmother and I could walk
back and forth in it. We found the chickens asleep; perhaps they thought
night had come to stay. One old rooster was stirring about, pecking at
the solid lump of ice in their water-tin. When we flashed the lantern
in their eyes, the hens set up a great cackling and flew about clumsily,
scattering down-feathers. The mottled, pin-headed guinea-hens, always
resentful of captivity, ran screeching out into the tunnel and tried to
poke their ugly, painted faces through the snow walls. By five o'clock
the chores were done just when it was time to begin them all over again!
That was a strange, unnatural sort of day.

XIV

ON THE MORNING of the twenty-second I wakened with a start. Before I
opened my eyes, I seemed to know that something had happened. I heard
excited voices in the kitchen--grandmother's was so shrill that I knew
she must be almost beside herself. I looked forward to any new crisis
with delight. What could it be, I wondered, as I hurried into my
clothes. Perhaps the barn had burned; perhaps the cattle had frozen to
death; perhaps a neighbour was lost in the storm.

Down in the kitchen grandfather was standing before the stove with
his hands behind him. Jake and Otto had taken off their boots and were
rubbing their woollen socks. Their clothes and boots were steaming, and
they both looked exhausted. On the bench behind the stove lay a man,
covered up with a blanket. Grandmother motioned me to the dining-room. I
obeyed reluctantly. I watched her as she came and went, carrying dishes.
Her lips were tightly compressed and she kept whispering to herself:
'Oh, dear Saviour!' 'Lord, Thou knowest!'

Presently gran