Both Meg and Bobby knew where the road was.  They had driven over it with Sam in the car, and they had walked it many a time in the summer.  Then why it should perversely disappear just at the time when they needed it most was something neither one was ever able to explain.  But disappear it did—­that ill-natured country road completely ran away from them.

“We’ve walked awful far,” sighed Meg, breathless from fighting against the wind which blew the snow into their faces so sharply that each flake stung.  “Where do you suppose that road is, Bobby?”

Bobby was carefully carrying the eggs.  He had no intention of losing those.

“I guess we’ll find it,” he assured his sister cheerfully.  “Are your hands cold, Meg?  Here, hold this heater a minute.”

Meg’s hands in her muff were quite comfortable, and she opened her mouth to say so to Bobby.  But without warning she slipped down out of sight before she had time to say a word.

“Meg!” shouted Bobby.  “Meg!  Are you hurt?”

Meg’s delighted little laugh bubbled up to him.

“Oh, Bobby,” she gurgled.  “I guess I’ve found the road.  Look out for that bank I fell down.  I’m sure this is a road.  You come and see.”

Bobby cautiously scrambled down the bank, over which Meg had slipped, and joined his sister.  Meg was on her feet again, and trying to brush the snow off her coat and out of her collar.

“It is a road, isn’t it?” she asked anxiously.

“Yes, it’s a road; but it can’t be the one near Mrs. Anson’s house,” answered Bobby, puzzled.  “We’ve walked too far.  What’s that sticking up?”

It proved to be a signboard, and, giving Meg the eggs to hold, Bobby tried to reach up high enough to brush the snow off so that they could read the lettering.  The board was far above his head.

“Shinny up,” urged Meg.  “Or stand on my shoulders.”

The pole was too wet for the first, and Bobby did not want to use his sister for a stepping stone.  He finally managed, by jumping up and flirting his cap across the board at each jump, to knock off enough snow to enable them to read the letters.

“M-E-R-T-O-N, six miles” spelled Bobby.  “R-I-C-E-V-I-L-L-E, four miles.”

Meg looked at him, troubled.

“Where does it say Oak Hill is?” she asked.

“It doesn’t say, but we’ll find it,” said Bobby stoutly, “Come on, Meg, we’ll go the way that’s four miles.”

Meg had gone some distance down the road before she discovered that she had left her muff at the sign post.  There was nothing to do but to go back for it.  As they came up to it, nearly buried in the snow already, so fast it was falling, a little rabbit started up and hopped away over the road in a panic of fear.

“Guess he thought it was another rabbit,” commented Bobby.

He walked ahead, carrying the eggs, and Meg followed him closely.  Suddenly he stopped and gave a shout.