the cottage in the lane, which rocked like a cradle as gust after gust of wind struck it with a force which made every timber quiver, and sent the boy Harold close to his grandmother's side as he asked, tremblingly:
'Do you think we shall be blown away?'
The rheumatism from which Mrs. Crawford had been suffering in the fall had troubled her more or less during the entire winter, and now, aggravated by a cold, it was worse than it had ever been before, and on the night of the storm she was suffering intense pain, which was only relieved by the hot poultices which Harold made under her direction and applied to the swollen limb. This kept him up later than usual, and the clock was striking eleven when his grandmother declared herself easier, and bade him go to bed.
It was at this hour that Arthur Tracy had fancied he heard the cry for help, and the snow was sweeping past the cottage in great billows of white when Harold went to the window and looked out into the night. In the summer when the leaves were upon the trees the old stone house could not he seen from the cottage, from which it was distant a quarter of a mile or more, but in the winter when the trees were stripped of their foliage it was plainly discernible, and as Harold glanced that way a gleam of light appeared suddenly, as if the door had been opened and the flickering rays of a candle had for a moment shone out into the darkness. Then it disappeared, but not until Harold had cried out:
'Oh, grandma, there's a light in the Tramp House; I saw it plain as day. Somebody is in there.'
'God pity them.' was Mrs. Crawford's reply, though she did not quite credit Harold's statement, or think of it again that night.
It was late next morning when Harold awoke to find the sun shining into the room, and without any sign of the terrible storm, except the snow, which lay in great piles everywhere and came almost to the window's edge. But Harold was not afraid of snow, and soon had the walks cleared around the cottage, and when, after breakfast, which he prepared himself, for his grandmother could not step, he was told that a doctor must be had and he must go for him, he did not demur at all, but commenced his preparations at once for the long and wearisome walk.
'Better go through the park,' his grandmother said to him, as he was tying his warm comforter about his ears and putting on his mittens. 'It is a little farther that way, but somebody has broken a path by this time, and the cross-road, which is nearer, must be impassable.'
Harold made no reply, but remembering the light he had seen in the Tramp House, resolved within himself to take the cross-road and investigate the mystery. Bidding his grandmother good-by, and telling her he should be back before she had time to miss him, he started on his journey, and was soon plunging through the snow, which, in some places, was up to his armpits, so that his progress was very slow, but by kicking with his feet and throwing out his arms like the paddles of a boat, he managed to get on until he was opposite the Tramp House, which looked like an immense snow-heap, so completely was it covered. Only the chimney and the slanting roof showed any semblance to a house as Harold made his way toward it, still beating the snow with his arms, and thinking it was not quite the fun he had fancied it might be.
He was close to the house at last, and stood for a moment looking at it, while a faint thrill of fear stirred in his veins as he remembered to have heard that burglars and thieves sometimes made it their rendezvous after a night's marauding. What if they were there now, and should rush upon him if he ventured to disturb them!
'I don't believe I will try it,' he thought, as he glanced nervously at the door, which was blockaded by a great bank of snow; and he was about to retrace his steps, when a sound met his ear which made him stand still and listen until it was repeated a second time.
Then forgetting both burglar and thief, he started forward quickly, and was soon at the door, from which he dug away the snow with a desperate energy, as if working for his life. For the sound was the cry of a little child, frightened and pleading.
'Mah-nee! mah-nee!' it seemed to say; and Harold, thinking it was mamma, answered, cheerily:
'I am coming as fast I can.'
Then the crying ceased, and all was still inside, while Harold worked on until enough snow was cleared away to allow of his opening the door about a foot, and through this narrow opening he forced his way into the cold, damp room, where for a moment he could see nothing distinctly, for the sunlight outside had blinded him, and there was but little light inside, owing to the barred and snow-bound windows.
Gradually, however, as he became accustomed to the place, he saw upon the long table in the corner where Arthur Tracy had moved it months before, what looked like a human form stretched at full length and lying upon its back, with its white, stony face upturned to the rafters above, and no sound or motion to tell that it still lived.
With an exclamation of surprise, Harold sprang forward and laid his hand upon the pale forehead of the woman, but started back as quickly with a cry of horror, for by the touch of the ice-cold flesh he knew the woman was dead.
'Frozen to death!' he whispered, with ashen lips; and then, as something stirred under the gray cloak which partly covered the woman, he conquered his terror and went forward again to the table, over which he bent curiously.
Again the cry, which was more like 'mah-nee' now than 'mamma,' met his ear, and, stooping lower, he saw a curly head nestle close to the bosom of the woman, while a little fat white hand was clasping the neck as if for warmth and protection.
At this sight all Harold's fear vanished, and, bending down so that his lips almost touched the bright, wavy hair, he said:
'Poor little girl!'—he felt instinctively that it was a girl—'poor little girl! come with me away from this dreadful place!' and he tried to lift up her head, but she drew it away from him, and repeated the piteous cry of 'Mah-nee, mah-nee!'
At last, however, as Harold continued to talk to her, the cries ceased, and, cautiously lifting her head, she turned toward him a fat, chubby face and a pair of soft, blue eyes in which the great tears were standing. Then her lips began to quiver in a grieved kind of way, as if the horror of the previous night had stamped itself upon her tender mind and she were asking for sympathy.
'Mah-nee!' she said again, placing one hand on the cold, dead face, and stretching the other toward Harold, who put out his arms to take her.
But something resisted all his efforts, and a closer inspection showed him a long, old-fashioned carpet-bag, which enveloped her body from her neck to her feet, and into which she had evidently been put to protect her from the cold.
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