There was a wintry chill in the air, which was not surprising at that early hour. If the sun came out it would be delightful travelling. Martin watched the sky a little anxiously while the others laughed and chatted on unheeding. At last, over the bald peak of the mountain, the sun looked down at them through a veil of mist which gradually disappeared. A cool wind was all that prevented the day from being as delightful as the previous one had been. But their progress would necessarily be slow, for the sorrel proved to have little endurance. Talitha favoured him as much as possible by keeping behind the others and slipping down occasionally to walk beside him with encouraging pats. “We can easily get as far as Joe Bradshaw’s,” said Martin. “They’ll be looking for us about sundown.” The gorgeous colouring of autumn had gone from the mountains, but there was still the holly with its scarlet berries, the green of the laurel, the fir, and pine, and here and there, on hickory and oak, a patch of colour where the leaves still clung. At noon the party stopped for dinner in a hollow shielded from the wind. They spread out the eatables which they had brought in their saddlebags, on the thick, green grass. The horses and mules were tethered to graze, after being watered at a trickling rill which filtered out of the rocks close beside them. After lingering longer than usual to give the sorrel a chance to rest, the company started on. Miss Howard looked at her watch; it was half-past one. “We’ll just about make it and that’s all,” she commented to herself cheerfully. For some time after leaving the hollow they followed the dry bed of a stream. The rocky bottom was covered with loose stones, and now and then a small boulder jutted out from the bank. They were in shadow, for hedging them in on either side, rose the mountains thickly covered with pine. At last they left the stream bed and turned into a trail leading over the mountain. Rising above it was the ridge of still another which they must cross before the Bradshaw home could be sighted. In the effort of guiding their animals into the trail, they did not at first notice the change in the sky until suddenly Martin, ahead, looked up. The sun had disappeared, and a grey mist clung to the tall peaks. The air had grown cold—a sudden drop of the temperature—which was an unmistakable sign of the approaching storm. He did not call out to startle those in the rear, but on reaching a small cove he turned the mule he was riding into it, and beckoned to the others. They were coming up Indian file, and one by one halted beside him—all but Talitha. Martin could see her some distance below them. Something had happened to the sorrel, for his sister had dismounted and was leading it with difficulty. “There’s a storm coming up.” Miss Howard shivered and looked around anxiously. “It’s growing colder every minute, I do believe; I never knew such a sudden change.”