of the forest, and the air was thick with falling and driving snow.
Hugh said that he had almost concluded not to go to the village. The snow
had become so deep, and the storm was increasing so fast, that he doubted
very much whether he could get back if he should go. On receiving Ellen's
message, however, he decided at once to go on. He could get _to_ the
village well enough, he said, for it was a descending road all the way;
but there would be more uncertainty about the return.

So he started his four oxen again, and they went wallowing on, followed by
the great loaded sled, with the runners buried in the drift. Hugh's cap
and shaggy coat, and the handkerchief which he had tied about the collar
of his coat, after turning it up to cover his ears, were all whitened with
the snow, and from among all these various mufflings his face, reddened
with the cold, peeped out, though almost wholly concealed from view.

As soon as Hugh was gone, Ellen, who was by this time almost blinded by
the snow which the wind blew furiously into her face and eyes, came into
the house and shut the door.

Ellen watched very diligently all the afternoon for the coming of her
father. She hoped that he would bring her mother with him. She went to the
window again and again, and looked anxiously down the road, but nothing
was to be seen but the thick and murky atmosphere, the increasing drifts,
and the scudding wreaths of snow. The fences and the walls gradually
disappeared from view; the great wood pile in the yard was soon completely
covered and concealed; and a deep drift, of the form of a wave just
curling over to break upon the shore, slowly rose directly across the
entrance to the yard, until it was higher than the posts on each side of
the gateway, so that Ellen began to fear that if her father and mother
should come, they would not be able to get into the yard.

At length it gradually grew dark, and then, though Ellen went to the
window as often as before, and attempted to shade her eyes from the
reflection of the fire, by holding up her hands to the side of her face,
she could watch these changes no longer. Nothing was to be seen, but the
trickling of the flakes down the panes of glass on the outside, and a
small expanse of white immediately below the window.

In the mean time, within the room where Ellen's aunt was reposing, all
seemed, at least in appearance, very bright and cheerful. A great log was
lying across the andirons, behind