A Dear Little Girl at School

“Oh, but suppose mother should come,” said Nettie. “She would be so worried, and I must be here to keep up the fires.”

“Then,” said Edna firmly, setting her face against the temptation of the cheerful supper table at home, the dear mother arms, the greetings of the boys and all the rest of it. “I will tell you what I can do. I will write mother a little note and ask her if she can send somebody or find some way to get us something to eat, and I’ll stay till your mother comes, Nettie.”

“Oh, I think you are lovely to do that,” answered Nettie.

“Could you wait a minute, Mr. Snyder?” asked Edna. “I won’t write much.”

“I’ll wait,” he said, “and if you will give me a shovel I’ll make a path to your gate. I reckon you’re right about staying, sissy. I’ve got two little girls of my own and I know I shouldn’t like them to be left alone either one of them.”

Edna hurried through her note which said: “Dear mother, I am with Nettie Black. She lives in the first little house on the side road on the way to the old mill. We are all alone for her mother hasn’t come back. Please send us something to eat if you can, for we have nothing left but rice and milk. There may be eggs in the hen-house, but we can’t get at them. I want to come but I’d better not. Your loving Edna.”

The little note was safely stowed away in Mr. Snyder’s pocket with a promise of sure delivery, and he went off, his horses plunging through the deep drifts up to their middles.

“I think you are just as good as you can be,” said Nettie. “I don’t feel as if I ought to let you stay, but I do hate the idea of being left all alone.”

“I’d want you to stay with me if I were in your place,” returned Edna remembering the G. R. Club. To be sure Nettie did not belong to her school, but she was quite as much one of those “others” to whom one should do as he would be done by.

“It really looks as if something had happened,” remarked Edna. “When we see the path to the gate. I wish he had had time to make one at the back, too.”

It was almost dark and they were about to turn from the window to light the lamp, when ploughing through the deep snow they saw someone coming down the road. They watched him eagerly. Except the milkman he was the first person they had seen that day. “He is coming this way,” said Edna hopefully. “Oh, Nettie, I believe it is Cousin Ben. He has a basket and see how he has taken to the road where Mr. Snyder’s sleigh went along.” She watched for a few minutes longer. “It is Cousin Ben,” she cried joyfully. “He is coming here. Light the lamp, Nettie, while I go let him in.”

She hurried to the door to see Ben stamping off the snow from his feet. “Whewee!” he exclaimed, “but isn’t this a sockdolager? I never saw such a storm? How are you Ande, my honey. Of all things to think of your being this near home and none of us knowing it.”

“Then mother did think I was still at Uncle Justus’s,” said Edna.

“Just what she did. You rung a surprise on the whole of us, I can tell you.”

He came in and set down the basket, took off his cap and overcoat and looked down at the two little girls with a smile.

“This is Nettie Black,” Edna told him. “She has been so nice to me, and I don’t know what would have happened if I had not been able to get to her house.”

“Don’t speak of it,” returned Ben with a little frown and a shake of his head. “I’ll sit down and warm myself and then you can tell me how this all happened.”

He drew up to the fire, took Edna on his knee and she poured forth her tale. “Pretty tough,” he said when she had completed her story. “I’m glad your mother didn’t know you had started. Now, Miss Nettie if you will let me sleep on that big sofa I am going to stay right here till we can dig you out and your mother comes. There’s a lot of provender in that basket and we’ll be as jolly as they make ’em.”

“Oh, but you can sleep upstairs,” returned Nettie. “There is plenty of room.”

“Good! Then upstairs be it. What was that about hens and eggs and things, Ande?”

“Oh, we can’t get out to the hen-house, you know. We tried to make a path but it was too hard work for us so we gave it up.”

“I should remark. Well, that will be done first thing in the morning, and I’ll go see what I can find. Eggsactly, as it were. What about the fires? Any coal up here?”

“A little,” Nettie told him. “We have carried up all we could at a time, but we couldn’t bring enough for the fires to-night. We are going down to get more.”

“You are going to do no such thing. Got a candle? Where are the coal scuttles? One of you hold the light and show me your coal bin and up comes your coal.” Cousin Ben was already making for the cellar door.

Of course no one was going to be left out of this expedition and all three descended to the cellar, from which they presently came forth all laughing. It was certainly a cheering thing to have someone so willing to come to their aid. Next the basket was unpacked and it goes without saying that there were neither eggs nor rice for supper that night. Moreover, Tippy had such a feast of milk as well as other things as he had not seen for several days. Ben kept the little girls in such a state of giggle that they could scarcely do the dishes, but what with the labors of the day and the later excitement they were ready for bed early, and went up leaving Cousin Ben with a book before him. Later his light half wakened Edna, but as he closed the door between the rooms and she realized that he was there, she turned over with a sigh of content, feeling very safe and sleepy.

CHAPTER VII

DISTURBANCES

Sunday morning was bright and clear. It was so dazzlingly bright when the little girls arose that they thought it must be much later than it was. Cousin Ben, however, was already up and dressed and had been down some time when the two finally descended to the lower floor. This was made known by reason of the fires burning brightly and of there being a path cleared to the hen-house, while as many as a dozen eggs were in a bowl on the kitchen table.

“Oh, Cousin Ben,” cried Edna, “what a lot you have done. It is so cosey and warm down here, and we won’t have to wait at all for breakfast.”

“I hope not,” he returned, “for I’m hungry, for one. What are you going to have?”

Edna turned to Nettie who considered the question. It was a great occasion when there were two guests to be provided for. “As long as there are so many eggs,” she said, “we can have muffins or something and some eggs. I could have some kind of breakfast food, too, I believe there’s some oat-meal.”

“Never mind the oat-meal,” said Ben. “You get me out the flour and stuff and I’ll make the muffins. There is a royal fire and I’ll get them ready in three shakes of a sheep’s tail.”

“You?” Nettie looked amazed.

“Of course. Did you never hear of a man cook? I’ve served my apprenticeship, I can assure you. I’ll make the coffee, too, if you have any.”

“Oh, there is some already ground, in the basket mother sent,” Edna assured him. “We don’t drink it, but we can have cambric tea.”

“All right, you go along and set the table, and I’ll do the rest.”

Nettie was rather glad to have the responsibility taken off her hands in this summary manner, though she said to Edna, “Do you think it is polite to let him do it all?”

“Why, certainly,” replied Edna. “He does those things at home for his mother sometimes, for he has no sisters, and the boys have to pitch in and help when the servant goes out. He has told me all about it. And as for its being polite, I remember mother said it was always more polite to let your company do the thing which made them comfortable than to insist upon doing something for them that would make them uncomfortable.”

Nettie considered this for some time before she quite took in the sense of it. She was a thin, demure little girl, not at all pretty, but with a kind face, big blue eyes and sandy hair. She was dressed very plainly, but her clothes were neat and simply made. She was not the kind of child Edna might have expected to find in such a little house.

The muffins turned out a great success, and Ben said his coffee just suited him. “I never saw fresher eggs than your hens lay,” he said, looking at Nettie with a serious face.

“Of course, they are fresh,” she returned, “when they were only laid yesterday.”

“That’s what I said,” returned Ben, with gravity.

Edna laughed. She was used to Cousin Ben’s ways, but Nettie was a little puzzled.

The breakfast was as merry an affair as the supper had been, and after it was cleared away there was a consultation upon what should be done next. “There’s no use in thinking of church,” said Ben. “We couldn’t get there if we tried.”

“And there are so few trains I don’t suppose I can expect mother this morning,” said Nettie.

“Better not expect her at all,” replied Ben, “that is, not while the roads are so snowy. There is scarcely any use in even a sleigh while these drifts are so high. Ande, what is the use of a sleigh, anyhow?” he asked, turning to his cousin who saw a joke.

“You tell,” she answered.

“Snow use” he replied. “Now, I’ll go out and feed the hens, and then I’ll put on my boots and start on the road again. I’ll see what’s going on at the house, and then I’ll come back again.” They watched him ploughing through the snow, but because he had been there and was coming back it seemed not lonely at all, though Nettie said, wistfully, she did hope her mother could come that day, and Edna hoped she could find a way of getting home.

Toward noon they saw a queer box-sleigh coming from the main road. They watched it interestedly from the window as it approached nearer and nearer. “I do believe it is mother,” exclaimed Nettie, joyfully. And sure enough the sleigh did stop before the door, a man got out, and then helped a slight woman in black to alight. “It is mother,” cried Nettie, running to the door, and presently she was in her mother’s arms.

Then there were great explanations. Like the little girls, Mrs. Black had been snowed in, for her sister lived quite a distance from the station, but she had at last been able to get some one of the neighbors to bring her across, as he had to go to the doctor’s, and was willing to take her the short distance further.