Into the Storm
Inside the Stone cabin, oil lamps had been lighted, so the Brownies
could see the Christmas tree quite plainly. It stood at a slight angle
in the window, its branches brushing against the icy panes.
“Why, it _is_ our tree!” agreed Sunny indignantly. “Of all the nerve!”
“I don’t think the tree we selected for the birds was that tall,”
protested Connie, after a second glance.
“Neither do I,” declared Eileen promptly. “Maybe it isn’t the same
evergreen, even though it looks a little like it.”
The Brownies trudged on, deliberately breaking trail so that they would
pass close to the Stone cabin.
“I still think it’s our tree,” insisted Jane when they were quite near
the window.
“And I say it isn’t,” Eileen argued.
“Wait here!” Jane directed the Brownies. “I’ll find out for sure!”
Before Miss Gordon or the other girls could stop her, she scrambled
over a big snowdrift and crept through the dark to the kitchen window.
Half hidden by an ice-coated bush, Jane was able to look closely at the
evergreen without being seen by anyone in the lighted room.
At first glance she saw that the tree was not the one which had been
taken from Mr. Jeffert’s land, though it was a beautiful spruce.
The lower branches were a little scraggly, and viewed at close range,
one side of the tree appeared slightly mis-shapen.
Satisfied that the evergreen was not the same one, Jane started to turn
away. Then she waited a moment, for she saw the Stone children playing
on the floor of the kitchen.
Mrs. Stone was setting food on the table for supper. One dish contained
potatoes and another held turnips. Jane did not see anything else.
“Mom, may we have a new sled for Christmas?” she heard Barbara ask her
mother.
“No, dear, and I’ve asked you not to keep pestering me about it,”
sighed her mother wearily. “With your father out of work, we can’t
afford toys this year. We’ll be lucky to keep food on the table.”
“Jane!” called Miss Gordon. She did not consider it proper for the
little girl to peep through a window.
Jane quickly rejoined the Brownies. She knew she had not been seen by
anyone in the cabin.
“It wasn’t the same tree,” she announced as the Brownies waited for her
opinion.
“I thought it wouldn’t be,” declared Connie, while Miss Gordon nodded
agreement.
“This proves that one shouldn’t leap to hasty conclusions,” added the
leader of the Brownie troop. “How easy it is to misjudge a person.”
As the Brownies started on at a brisk pace toward the Gordon farm, Jane
was rather quiet. She kept thinking about what she had heard Mrs. Stone
tell Barbara.
Finally, she said: “Miss Gordon, I wish we could give the Stone family
more than just a sled. They need all sorts of toys and Christmas
food--turkey, cranberries, plum pudding and everything.”
The remark surprised Miss Gordon. She asked Jane why she thought the
Stones might be in dire need.
“I heard Mrs. Stone say there would be no money for Christmas toys and
maybe not any for food,” Jane related. “All they were having for supper
was potatoes and turnips.”
“Oh, surely Mrs. Stone had other food prepared, Jane. Perhaps it was in
the oven, or out of sight.”
“That’s all I saw at any rate.”
“What was the kitchen like?” inquired Connie curiously.
“I didn’t notice anything except the Christmas tree and the supper
table. Miss Gordon called me before I had a chance to really see very
much.”
Now what Jane had reported deeply troubled Miss Gordon. She promised
the Brownies she would make inquiries before Christmas to learn if the
Stones actually were in need.
“If they are, we’ll send a big basket of food,” she said. “However, the
Stones have lived in this community many years and I understand, are
quite proud. They might resent charity.”
“Will they be offended if we give them the sled, and perhaps a few
other toys?” Connie asked anxiously.
“The children will enjoy the presents--I’m certain of that,” declared
Miss Gordon.
After the Brownies reached Grandmother Gordon’s farmhouse they talked
over what they could do to help the Stone children.
“We could stuff stockings and make them into dolls,” proposed Eileen
eagerly.
“And we could bake things,” suggested Rosemary, who loved to cook.
“That is, if Mrs. Gordon wouldn’t mind having us use her kitchen.”
“It’s yours for the asking,” laughed Mrs. Gordon.
The Brownies divided into two groups, one to sew and the other to work
in the kitchen. Veve, Rosemary and Connie elected to cook, while the
other girls sewed stocking dolls.
“What shall we make?” demanded Veve, after the three girls, wrapped in
huge kitchen aprons, had taken possession of the kitchen.
“I have a recipe here for brownies,” said Miss Gordon. “You might
start with that. Then if you like, we can make sand tarts and regular
Christmas cookies, decorating them with red and green sugar, citron and
candied cherry.”
“Are brownies a cookie too?” asked Veve, who never had done much
cooking.
“A very rich and delicious variety,” declared the troop leader.
She set out the ingredients and gave the girls Mrs. Gordon’s favorite
brownie recipe. It read:
1/3 cup shortening
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 squares chocolate
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup flour
1/3 cup chopped nut meats.
“I’ll chop the nuts!” offered Connie, digging in the kitchen cabinet
drawer for the cracker.
Rosemary and Veve under Miss Gordon’s direction blended the sugar and
the shortening.
“Now while you add the two eggs, I’ll step into the living room and see
how our champion sewers are progressing,” Miss Gordon said.
Left to themselves, Veve and Rosemary scarcely knew how to add the eggs
to the creamy white mixture.
“You break one and I’ll smash the other,” proposed Veve. “That way,
we’ll both have a turn.”
Rosemary cracked her egg squarely in the middle and let the yolk and
white drop into the pan. A tiny piece of shell fell in too, but she
fished it out with a spoon.
“Now it’s my turn,” laughed Veve. Though she never had cracked an egg,
she was sure it would be easy.
Selecting the largest one in the pan, she tapped it smartly against the
table edge as she had seen Rosemary do.
Now Veve struck the egg much harder than she had intended. Instead of
cracking, the shell shattered completely, and the egg splattered on the
floor.
“Oh, Veve! See what you’ve done!” cried Rosemary.
“It just slipped,” said Veve contritely. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
Then, because she realized she had made that same excuse many times
before, she hung her head.
“Never mind, Veve,” returned Rosemary kindly. “I almost dropped my egg
too.”
With Connie helping, the two girls tried to wipe up the egg with a
cloth. It ran them a race on the linoleum. Finally, after washing out
the rag several times, they were successful in cleaning up the mess.
“Now we’ll have to wash our hands and break another egg,” sighed
Rosemary.
“It’s your turn again,” said Veve quickly. “I had mine.”
While Connie and Veve hovered near to offer moral support, Connie broke
the egg and dropped it safely into the cookie mixture. As she was
stirring it in, Miss Gordon returned to the kitchen.
“How are we coming?” she asked gaily.
Veve told her about the accident, but the Brownie leader only laughed.
“Grandmother Gordon has lots of eggs and won’t mind losing one,” she
said. “Now let’s add the melted chocolate.”
With Miss Gordon there to watch, it was easy to finish up the brownie
mixture. Veve and Rosemary added melted chocolate, salt and vanilla.
Then Connie dumped in all the chopped nuts, after making certain there
were no shells.
“Yum! Yum! It looks delicious!” she declared. “How long must we wait
for it to bake, Miss Gordon?”
“About twenty minutes at moderate oven temperature.”
“What’s a moderate oven?” asked Rosemary, who never had heard the term.
“Usually that means about 350 degrees heat. Grandmother Gordon’s wood
stove has no temperature control, so we’ll have to test it by guess.”
Miss Gordon opened the oven door and a blast of heat poured out into
the kitchen. She thrust her hand into the cavern a moment and then
withdrew it, closing the oven door.
“The temperature is about right now, I think,” she decided. “Grease the
pan, and let’s pop those brownies right in.”
While the cookies baked, Connie, Veve and Rosemary wandered into the
next room to see how Jane, Eileen and Sunny were progressing with their
stocking dolls.
The work was nearly finished. Jane had created the funniest figure,
tying the foot of her stuffed stocking into two long rabbit ears. With
needle and red thread, she had stitched on big eyes, a nose, mouth and
a few whiskers.
“I’m sure the Stone children will love these dolls and the cookies as
well,” declared Miss Gordon. “As for the baskets of Christmas food,
we’ll decide later on, whether or not to send them.”
Though the Brownie leader did not say so, she had talked the matter
over the night before with Mrs. Gordon. They had been unable to
agree on whether or not the Stones would resent receiving help. And
Grandmother Gordon had argued that she still was unconvinced the Stones
were a deserving family.
So the matter of sending a turkey and other substantial food, remained
undecided.
During the next two days, the Brownies were too busy to leave the
Gordon farm. They made decorations for the house, cut spruce boughs for
the windows, and baked more cookies and made fancy candies.
Now, Mrs. Gordon had noticed that her supplies were beginning to
dwindle. So late one afternoon she reminded Grandfather Gordon that
if they were to have a Christmas feast, he must take the bobsled and
drive to Goshen.
Grandfather Gordon stretched his long legs toward the crackling log and
yawned. “Why drive all the way to Goshen?” he asked. “That’s nearly
twenty miles. Can’t I get everything you want at Deerford?”
“The stores there never have what I need,” complained his wife. “This
time I have a special list and it’s a long one.”
“Goshen it must be then,” sighed Grandfather Gordon. “I may as well
start early in the morning.”
He telephoned Mr. Jeffert to ask if he might pick up anything for him
at Goshen.
“I’ll ride along if you’ll stop for me,” Mr. Jeffert said. “Meet you at
eight o’clock.”
Now the next morning before Grandfather Gordon hitched the horses, he
remarked that the sky looked very dark.
“Wouldn’t be surprised if we’re in for a heavy snow before nightfall,”
he told Grandmother Gordon. “I’ll get along as fast as I can.”
Soon after Mr. Gordon had driven away with the bobsled, the flakes
began to flutter down. So fast did they fall that the entire sky seemed
full of moist feathers.
The Brownies loved the snow. All morning they played out in it,
building a hut near the barn.
However, by lunch time a sharp wind had sprung up, so that it no longer
was pleasant to be out-of-doors.
Looking like ghosts in their heavily coated garments, the Brownies
tramped into the house to toast themselves by the fire. The snow kept
falling steadily, driving against the windows and banking up so that
one could not readily see outside.
“I’ll be glad when Grandfather returns,” said Mrs. Gordon uneasily.
“The storm is getting worse.”
“And the wind is drifting the snow,” added Miss Gordon.
Now the Brownies could see very plainly that both Mrs. Gordon and
their leader were worried lest Grandfather Gordon and Mr. Jeffert have
trouble getting home from Goshen.
Miss Gordon kept walking to the kitchen window to look at the main road.
“How long will the storm last?” Connie asked anxiously.
“That’s hard to say, dear,” replied the Brownie leader. “Usually not
very long, but this one may be different. Once we had a blizzard which
kept up three days and nights.”
“Three days!” gasped Connie. “But that would be until after Christmas!”
“I didn’t mean this storm will last that long,” said Miss Gordon
quickly. “However, I am afraid it may keep us from taking the sled to
the Stone children unless we do so at once.”
“Let’s go now,” urged Eileen.
“I believe that will be wisest,” agreed Miss Gordon. “We must dress
warmly though, for it is steadily getting colder.”
While Grandmother Gordon wrapped the cookies and the stocking dolls in
heavy paper, the Brownies scrambled into their snowsuits. Miss Gordon
brought out the shiny new sled.
“Everyone ready?” she asked, her hand on the doorknob. “Now we must
keep close together and walk fast. Brace yourselves!”
She thrust open the door and a wild flurry of snow whirled into the
faces of the Brownies.