Harder blew the wind, and fiercer fell the snow. The path Mr. Bobbsey had shoveled was soon filled up again. Out at the back door was a drift that covered the rear stoop.
"If this keeps up we will be snowed in," said Mr. Bobbsey to his wife, as they prepared to lock up for the night.
They were gathered around the big open fire, popping corn and roasting apples, when a louder blast of wind than ever shook the house.
"Oh, what a night!" said Mrs. Bobbsey, with a shudder. "I wish we were in our home again!"
Hardly had she spoken than there came a fearful crash, and the whole house trembled. At the same time a blast of cold wind swept through it, scattering the fire on the hearth.
"Oh, what was that?" cried Mrs. Bobbsey.
"That old apple tree, at the corner of the house," said Mr. Bobbsey. "The storm has blown it over, and it has smashed a corner of the Lodge. Don't be afraid. We'll be all right," and he ran to close the door, to keep out the cold wind.
