There was a buzzing in Dorothy’s ears; it seemed as though she could not be herself, but must be somebody else. “Herself” was still out in that dreadful snowstorm—sinking to a fatal sleep in the soft drifts.

Yet all the time she heard—distantly, but sufficiently distinct—the clatter of Mrs. Ann Hogan’s tongue, and the gasping, interrupted speech of little Celia Moran. At first Dorothy thought her rescue must be a dream.

“Take off her shoes—do ye hear me, ye little nuisance?” commanded the big woman. “Sure, ’tis jest about done for, she is. Cely! Cely Moran! did ye bring the eggs as I told ye?”

“Oh, dear, me, Mrs. Hogan,” said the little girl. “I was that scared——”

“Thim eggs!” exclaimed the woman. “Where be they?”

“I dropped the basket when I heard the lady holler——”

79 “Go for thim! They’ll be froze in another minnit—an’ eggs fawty-two cints th’ dozen at the store! Mind, now! if ye’ve broke thim, I’ll wallop ye.”

Dorothy knew that the door was opened again, for a blast of cold wind came in. But she could not open her eyes. The lids were too heavy. Mrs. Hogan was rubbing her hand’s between her own—which were as rough as nutmeg graters!

“Here ye are,” declared the woman, still kneeling before the settee on which she had laid Dorothy. She spoke to the child. “Are they broke, I ax ye?”

“No, ma’am! No, ma’am, Mrs. Hogan,” stuttered Celia’s shrill little voice. “Oh, I didn’t break none; but the hulls come off two or three——”

“Little nuisance!” snapped the woman. “And ye’d lie about it, too. Put ’em careful on the shelf—or I’ll be the death of ye! Lit another egg be broken——”

The unfinished threat seemed to fill the child with terror. Dorothy heard her sobbing softly. Then she crept to Dorothy’s feet again and continued to unlace the bigger girl’s shoes. When they were drawn off Mrs. Hogan began to rub the girl’s feet. They were so cold and stiff that it seemed to Dorothy as though they would be broken right off in the woman’s hard hands.

80 She forced her eyes open, and saw the big woman on her knees. Celia’s wondering little face was close to her own. Dorothy sat up with sudden energy.

“Oh! oh! oh!” whispered Celia. “It is my dear, dear young lady!”

“Why, Celia——”

“Is it knowin’ aich other ye bes?” demanded Mrs. Hogan, suspiciously. Dorothy was half afraid of this muscular Amazon. She thought it best to tell the whole truth.

“I saw Celia in the Belding station the day you brought her home from the city foundling asylum, Mrs. Hogan,” she said, simply.

“Arrah! the little baggage!” grumbled the woman. “An’ she niver said a wor-r-rd about it—bad ’cess to her!”

“I expect she was afraid you would not like it,” observed Dorothy, quietly. “It was not Celia’s fault. I spoke to her myself. No, Mrs. Hogan! never mind rubbing my feet any more. Thank you. They will be quite warm in a minute.”

Somehow she did not want the great, coarse woman to touch her.

“Well, now,” said Mrs. Hogan, rising to her feet, and standing with her hands on her hips and her arms akimbo, “well, now, will ye be tellin’ me where ye come from, young leddy?”

81 “From Glenwood Hall school. I am Dorothy Dale.”

“Indade! And do they know where ye be?”

“Why, I didn’t know myself where I was until I heard Celia’s voice,” declared Dorothy. “She told me she was going to live with you. But—but I don’t really know the situation of this farm, Mrs. Hogan. You see, I got lost in the woods, and in the storm. It came on to snow so fast and so suddenly.”

“Yis—I see,” grunted Mrs. Hogan. “I kin tell ye how far ye air from the highway. ’Tis eight mile, if it’s a step.”

“Oh, dear! I must have been wandering farther and farther away from the highway all the time.”

“Thrue for ye! Well, ye want to retur-r-rn, I make no doubt—as soon as ye can?”

“Yes, indeed,” said the girl, quickly. “I am getting nice and warm. It was silly of me to almost lose consciousness——”

“In a short time ye’d been dead in the snow,” declared the woman, bluntly. “And ye can thank yer stars I found ye. Yis, indeed. Yer friends will doubtless thank me, too,” and she spoke grimly.

Dorothy was remembering more clearly now. She had heard the woman say something about being paid for taking care of her—she could easily82 believe that Mrs. Hogan would do no kindness save through a mercenary motive.

“Do you suppose I can get back to school to-night, Mrs. Hogan?” she asked, rather timidly.

“And in this stor-r-rm, is it?”

“But Mrs. Pangborn will be worried.”

“Who’s she—the head teacher, is it? Well! Now, do yez think yez could find yer way alone, Miss?”

“Oh, I am afraid not,” admitted Dorothy, looking at the snow banking against the windows of the farmhouse kitchen.

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