About noon, there being still no sign of the missing men with provisions, the captain became impatient, and told Foster-father curtly that he and his three troopers would ride back some fifteen miles to a village, where perchance the others were waiting, and that meanwhile the rest of them could wait till he returned; there were provisions enough for a day or two.

Foster-father protested against being left alone in the snow with but a boy, two helpless women and two young children; but the Captain only laughed and rode off, taking with him Horse-chestnut, as a precaution, doubtless, against any attempt to escape with the Heir-to-Empire.
There was nothing to be done, Foster-father felt, save to wait with what patience he could; but his heart sank as, while Head-nurse and Foster-mother slept, outwearied by the past two days' fatigue, and the children under Roy's care played snowballs, he sat and watched the sky.
At first there was only a cloud or two in the west; then a sudden wind sprang up and drove the fine, powdery snow in drifts.

But still the sun shone, though it seemed to grow a little dimmer, a little paler; finally, about two hours after the others had left, Foster-father felt uncertain whether it was all drift that seemed to fill the air with a fine white film, or whether fresh snow was falling.
An hour later there was no doubt about it.

Great flakes were circling down silently, the sun had vanished, all things had become grey.
Head-nurse heaped up the fire, set a quilt before it for the children to play upon, and then opened out the wallets to see what she could find for supper.

There was not much left, and she was about to knead up all the flour to bake hearth cakes when Foster-father crossed over to her and whispered: "Half will do, sister; otherwise there may be none for to-morrow." "None ?" she echoed.