“If you are going to start out foraging I’m going with you,” Miss Howard declared. “I don’t want any more people getting lost. I’m sure that Martin wouldn’t care to repeat his experience.” The young fellow shook his head. “I’ll be all right come morning, though,” he announced confidently. “Let us go along and help Abner, then we can get all that is needed in two or three trips,” begged Gincy. The young woman hesitated. “I don’t know but it might be a good plan,” she answered finally. “But Martin must stay right where he is and try to get rested.” Miss Howard halted at the entrance to the passageway, holding the torch aloft and keeping a sharp eye on her charges. She might have been Liberty enlightening the mountains as she stood there—the light flaming out over the white slopes beyond. The snow was still falling upon them, but in more scattering flakes as though the storm had spent its force. Suddenly, she saw—with a start—little gleams of light flash far upon the opposite mountain-side. They vanished and again appeared in another place as though people—there were certainly more than one—were moving about. She thought of the coat she had found in the cave, and her old anxiety returned. Talitha and Gincy coming up—their arms heaped with firewood—wondered at her pale face. “I reckon you’re plumb tuckered out,” said the latter sympathizingly. “My, what a pile Abner’s got! Don’t you ’low it’ll do us to-night if we’re careful?” The teacher surveyed it with doubt, but she only said calmly, “I’m sure it will last a long time, and if we should need any more it can be easily gathered.” “If I only had a hatchet I could get some big sticks down in that holler,” panted Abner. “I picked up a little green stuff for the beastes to nibble at, it’ll make ’em more content, but it’s mighty poor feedin’.” Entering the cave they found Martin asleep by the fire. Quietly they moved about, making themselves comfortable as possible for the night and were soon dozing around the fireplace. Miss Howard did not allow her eyes to close. She watched and listened, alert to catch any unusual sound, while the young people around her slept fitfully. Late in the night she heard voices, then a wild shout and the crunching of hoofs in the snow. The mules did not stir, but the horses became restless and one of them whinnied. The sleepers awoke suddenly and sat up. Miss Howard looked at her watch, it was nearly twelve o’clock. She smiled at them sleepily. “Don’t you want to sing something?” she inquired. “Perhaps the night won’t seem so long if we do.” Talitha rubbed her eyes. It was a strange request at that late hour and in such a place, but she cheerfully joined in with the others when her teacher began the old choral so familiar to Bentville pupils: “A mighty fortress is our God, A bulwark never failing—”