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For his elder sister was Birk's wife, and to this great feast he was invited as a representative of the family, his father being disabled by "rheumatics," and his mother kept at home by the necessity of providing dinner for those four small boys. "Hain't I done promised ye not ter tech a drap o' liquor this Chris'mus day?" asked Rick. "That's a fac'," his mother admitted.
"I kin find out the way to Birk's Mill from the folkses." When he neared the smoke, he paused abruptly, staring once more. There was no house! The smoke rose from among low pine bushes. Above were the snow-laden branches of the fir. "Ef thar war a house hyar, I reckon I could see it!" said Rick doubtfully, infinitely mystified. There was a continual drip, drip of moisture all around.
How far and where they dragged him through the snowy mountain wilderness outside, Rick never knew. He was exhausted when at length they allowed him to pause. As he heard their steps dying away in the distance, he tore the bandage from his eyes, and found that they had left him in the midst of the wagon road to make his way to Birk's Mill as best he might.
"Somehows I hates fur ye ter go ter eat at Birk's Mill, they air sech a set o' drinkin' men down thar ter Malviny's house," said Rick's mother, as she stood in the doorway, and looked anxiously at him.
How was he to make his way back up the mountain, he asked himself, as he looked at the inaccessible cliffs looming high into the air. All the world around him was unfamiliar. Even his wide wanderings had never brought him into this vast, snowy, trackless wilderness, that stretched out on every side. He would be half the day in finding the valley road that led to Birk's Mill.
He realized that in discovering their stronghold he had learned a secret that was by no means a safe one for him to know. And he was in their power; at their mercy! "Don't shoot!" he faltered. "I jes' want ter ax the folkses ter tell me the way ter Birk's Mill." What would he have given to be on the bleak mountain outside! One of the men caught him as if anticipating an attempt to run.
How they would search these bleak wintry fastnesses for him, while he was gone sailing with the mist! What would they say at home and at Birk's Mill? One last thought of the "pea-fowel," and he seemed to slide swiftly away from the world with the snow. He was unconscious probably only for a few minutes.
He was a tall, sinewy boy, deft of foot as all these mountaineers are, and a seven-mile walk in the snow to Birk's Mill he considered a mere trifle. He tramped along cheerily enough through the silent solitudes of the dense forest.
As he began to re-load his gun, the small boys clustered around him, their hands in the pockets of their baggy jeans trousers, their heads inquiringly askew. "They air a-goin' ter hev a pea-fowel fur dinner down yander ter Birk's Mill," Rick remarked. The smallest boy smacked his lips, not that he knew how pea-fowl tastes, but he imagined unutterable things.
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