Big flakes of snow came fluttering slowly downward out of a dark sky.

After dinner we went up on top of the sledgehouse and saw a big scraper coming in the valley below.

Six teams of oxen were drawing it, and we could see the flying furrows on either side of the scraper as it ploughed in the deep drifts.

Uncle Eb put on the snow shoes again, and, with Hope on his back and me clinging to his hand, he went down to meet them and to tell of our plight.

The front team had wallowed to their ears, and the men were digging them out with shovels when we got to the scraper.