t.

Then a cry rang through forest and snow from another voice than Atlung's
and one of quite a different character. I could not distinguish what was
said; but it was followed by a fresh call from another, then again from
a third, and this last time could be distinctly heard the words: "I hear
them crying!" It was a woman's voice. I hastened forward, the rest ran
in front of and behind me, all in the direction whence came the call. We
had become weary of wading in the heavy snow; but now we sped onward as
easily as though there were firm ground beneath our feet. The light from
the lanterns skipping about among us and over our heads, shone in our
eyes and dazzled us; no one spoke, our breathing alone was heard.

"Hush!" cried a young girl, suddenly halting, and the rest of us also
stood still; for we heard the voices of the two little ones uplifted in
that piteous wail of lamentation common to children who have been
weeping in vain for long, long hours and to whom sympathy has finally
come.

"Good gracious!" exclaimed an elderly man,--he well knew the sound of
such weeping. We perceived that the boys were no longer alone; we walked
onward, but more calmly. We reached and passed the fish-pond, and came
to a place a little beyond the ravine, where the trees were regular in
their growth; for the spot was sheltered and hidden. The weeping, of
course, became more distinct the nearer we approached, and at last we
heard voices blended with it. They were those of the father and mother,
who had been the first to gain the spot. When we had reached an opening
where we could see between the trees into the snow, our gaze was met by
two black objects against something extremely white; it was the father
and mother, on their knees, each clinging to a boy; behind them was a
snow fort, or rather a crushed snow house, in which, sure enough, the
boys had sought refuge. When the lanterns were brought near, we saw how
piteously benumbed with the cold the little fellows were: they were
blue, their fingers stiff, they could not stand well on their feet;
neither of them had on caps; these no doubt lay in the heap of snow, if
the boys had had them with them at all. They replied to none of the
tokens of endearment or questions of their parents; not once did they
utter a word, they only wept and wept. We stood around them, Stina
sobbing aloud. The weeping of the boys, and the lamentations, questions,
and tokens of endearment of the parents, toget