SNOW MAIDENS
The picturesque village of Sunnyside had one main road, wide, elm-shaded,
which began at a beautiful hill-encircled lake, and which from there
climbed gently up through the business part of town to the residential,
passed the orphanage, the fine old seminary for girls and the even older
academy for boys, and then led through wide-open spaces, fertile farms,
other scattered villages and on to Dorchester, a large, thriving city
forty miles away. Merry Lee’s father was a builder and contractor whose
offices were in Dorchester, but whose home was a comfortable old colonial
house on the main thoroughfare in the village of Sunnyside.
The large, square library of the Lee home was warm and cheerful on that
blustery, blizzardy Saturday afternoon. A log was snapping and crackling
on the hearth and a big slate-colored Persian cat on the rug was purring
loudly its content. A long lad, half reclining on a window seat, was
reading a detective story and making notes surreptitiously now and then.
At a wide front window, Merry Lee stood drumming her fingers on the pane
and peering out at the whirling snow. A chiming clock announced that the
hour was three. “And I told the crowd to be there by two-thirty at the
latest.” Although the girl had not really been addressing him, the boy
glanced up to remark: “Might as well give up, Sis. Girls wouldn’t venture
out in a storm like this; they are like cats. They like to stay in where
it’s warm and comfy. Hey, Muff?” The puss, upon hearing its name, opened
one sleepy blue eye, looked at the boy lazily and then dozed again.
Suddenly there was a peal of merry laughter. “Oh, Jack,” his sister
exclaimed gayly, “do look out of the window. Did you ever before see such
a funny procession?”
Jack looked and beheld coming in at the front gate five maidens so
covered with snow that it was impossible to tell which was which.
Merry whirled to defy her brother. “Now, sir, you see girls aren’t afraid
of a little blizzardly weather. I’m certainly glad they came. I’d burst
if I had to keep my secret any longer.”
“Secret?” Jack’s voice held a rising inflection and he looked up with
interest, but Merry was on her way to open the front door that Katie, the
maid, need not be summoned by the bell.
A gust of wind and a flurry of flakes first entered, then, what a
stamping as there was outside on the storm porch.
“Hail! Hail! The gang’s all here!” Merry sang out, but quickly added:
“Oh, don’t mind about the snow. Come on in. Katie put matting over the
carpet.” Then as she looked from one ruddy, laughing face to another, the
hostess exclaimed: “But you aren’t all here. What’s the matter with Rose?
Why didn’t she come?” Then before anyone could reply, Merry guessed: “O,
I suppose her lady mother was afraid her precious darling would melt or
be blown away! I don’t see how Rose ever gets to school in the winter.
Her mother coddles her so!”
“Drives, my dear, as you know perfectly well, but it seems that today the
snow-plough hasn’t been along Willowbend Lane, and her mother won’t hear
to having the horses taken out. Rose tried to call you up, but your
’phone is on the blink, so she called me.” Peg paused for breath, then
went on: “She’s simply heart-broken; she said she’d give us all the
chocolates we could eat and a nice hot drink if we’d beg, borrow or steal
a sleigh somewhere and hold our meeting out there at her house.”
Merry’s face brightened. “Say, that’s a keen idea! I was wondering how I
could divulge my secret with Jack hanging around in the library, and I
couldn’t turn him out very well, being as it’s about the only warm spot
in the house except the kitchen. What’s more, I’m crazy to go for a tramp
in this snow storm. Wait till I get on my leggins and overshoes.”
They had not long to wait, for in less than five minutes Merry reappeared
from the cloakroom, under the wide, winding stairway, a fur cap hiding
her short curls, a fur cloak reaching to her knees and her legs warmly
ensconced in leggins of the same soft grey. She opened the door to the
library and called to her brother, who was again deeply engrossed in his
book: “The ‘cats’ are about to leave. We’ve decided to hold today’s
_most_ important meeting of our secret society in the palatial home of
the Widow Wright. I am enlightening you as to our destination, Brother
dear, so that if we happen to be lost in a snow drift, you will know
where to come to dig us out.”
Jack had leaped to his feet when he saw the merry faces of the five girls
in the hall, but before he could join them, they had darted out through
the storm porch, and the wind slammed the door after them.
The boy laughed to himself, then shrugged his shoulders as though he was
thinking that the modern girl was beyond his comprehension. Then he
returned to the fireplace, dropped down into the comfortable depths of a
big easy chair and continued to read and scribble alternately. He was
preparing a paper to be read that night before the secret society to
which he belonged: The C. D. C. The boys had long ago guessed the meaning
of the letters that named the girls’ club “The S. S. C.”
“Dead easy!” Bob Angel had told them. “Sunny Side Club, of course.” But
the girls had never been able to guess the meaning of the boys’ “C. D.
C.,” nor did they know where the secret meetings were held. These
meetings were always at night, and, although Sunnyside girls were modern
as far as their conversation went; due to their parents’ antiquaited
ideas, perhaps, they were not considered old enough to roam about the
dark streets of the town at night unless accompanied by their brothers or
someone older. And, of course, they couldn’t find out the secret
meeting-place of the boys when the members were along, and so up to that
particular date, January 11, 1928, the seven “S. S. C.” girls had not
even a suspicion of where the boys’ clubrooms were located.
They had vowed that they would ferrit it out if it took a lifetime.