Lost in the Blizzard
Connie scarcely knew what to do. The storm seemed to be getting worse,
for snow came down faster and the wind was rising.
“Maybe another car or truck will come along,” she said hopefully.
“We can’t stand here and freeze,” shivered Veve. “I think this is a
side road. Mr. Gossart’s truck may be the only one to drive past today.”
Connie knew that Veve depended upon her to make a decision. While they
might keep on walking, she could not be sure the road would lead to Mr.
Jeffert’s farm.
“Let’s go back,” she decided.
The wind howled in their ears and seemed to come from every direction.
Snow stung their faces. Never before had the two girls been so
miserable and cold.
“Why can’t we see the Stone cabin?” Veve whimpered.
From the road the dwelling was nowhere to be seen. The driving,
swirling curtain of white had blotted out the entire landscape, making
everything appear strange.
“Are we walking the right direction?” Veve asked after a few minutes.
“It didn’t seem to me we followed the road this far before.”
“I’m all mixed up,” Connie admitted, turning around so that the wind
would strike her back instead of her face. She was frightened, but did
not want Veve to know.
The snowflakes were smaller now, hard and sharp as needles. They pelted
the girls from every direction, and the wind seized their breath.
“I see something ahead!” gasped Connie a moment later.
She hoped it might be a car, but instead it proved to be a small bridge
which arched over a frozen creek.
“We never passed this before,” said Veve in despair. “Oh, Connie, we’re
truly lost!”
“Miss Gordon will be worried about us too!” Connie added. “Oh, dear!”
When the girls reached the bridge, it seemed to them they could not
walk another foot.
“Let’s stop under the bridge and rest,” proposed Veve.
“All right,” agreed Connie. “But we won’t dare stand still very long.”
She had heard that in severe blizzards persons sometimes froze to death.
Under the bridge, the girls were protected from the wind and snow, but
not the intense cold. Connie’s fingers and toes ached, while Veve was
certain her nose already was frozen. Huddling together for warmth, they
tried to decide what to do.
Now, although the girls were unaware of it, help already was close at
hand. Clem Stone, who had been out looking at his traps, came tramping
along the frozen creek. He saw the two half-frozen children even before
they heard his approach.
“Well, what’s this?” he called out in astonishment.
Just then the girls did not know that the man was Mr. Stone. He wore
a cap with ear muffs and a heavy mackinaw. His feet were protected by
heavy shoes which came nearly to his knees.
“Oh, mister! Please tell us where we are!” Connie cried as she caught
sight of the trapper. “We think we’re lost.”
“You’re cold,” observed Mr. Stone, staring at the two girls. “Now tell
me your names and where you live.”
Connie told him that she and Veve were staying at the Gordon farmhouse
and had become separated from their friends after leaving the Stone
cabin.
“Why, that’s my place!” exclaimed the trapper. “You’re not far from
there now, or the main road. Just follow me.”
Connie and Veve no longer were worried because they were confident Mr.
Stone would take care of them. Hustling them along at a brisk pace, he
went ahead to break the wind and snow. Walking was hard work, but much
easier than it had been before.
Connie asked the trapper what road they were on.
“Just a little side cut that runs up to Mr. Jeffert’s evergreen farm.
The main road is across the field to the left. We’ll soon be there.”
Mr. Stone helped the girls over a fence, and aided them whenever they
had to plunge through especially large drifts.
“This is a real blizzard--no mistake,” he said once. “If it keeps on
until morning, all the roads will be closed.”
Soon Mr. Stone and the girls reached the main road.
“Thank you very much,” Connie told him gratefully. “We’ll be all right
now.”
But Mr. Stone would not permit them to go on alone.
“Not in this storm,” he said. “I’ll see that you get safely to the
Gordon farm.”
Mr. Stone walked a trifle too fast for the girls, who had to run a
bit to keep up with him. However, they discovered that the brisk pace
restored their circulation and made them feel much warmer.
Unexpectedly, the trapper halted to listen. He had heard an unusual
sound.
“What was that?” he demanded.
The cry, “Yoo-ho-ho-yoo-ho!” resounded from far down the road. Connie
knew instantly what it was.
“That’s our Brownie cry!” she shouted. “Miss Gordon must be looking for
us.”
Connie gave an answering call. Then Mr. Stone and the two girls
hastened on to meet the Brownie troop leader.
Soon they glimpsed her coming toward them through the slanting sheet of
snow. Covered from hood to toe, she looked like a white ghost.
“Connie! Veve!” she exclaimed, giving them each a hug. “We’ve been so
worried about you! I was afraid you were lost.”
“We were afraid we were too,” laughed Connie. “Mr. Stone found us.”
Miss Gordon thanked the man for guiding the girls to the road, and
assured him she would now have no difficulty in escorting them on to
the Gordon farm. The other Brownies, she explained, already were there,
as a friendly neighbor had overtaken and picked them up in his sleigh.
“I came back alone to find you girls,” she told Connie and Veve. “Dear
me, I never dreamed the storm would become so severe.”
Saying good-bye to Mr. Stone, the girls started on down the road with
the Brownie leader. They wanted to tell Miss Gordon about seeing Mr.
Gossart with the load of evergreens, but decided the story must wait.
Walking took all their breath, making it too hard to talk.
Now at Grandmother Gordon’s home, all the Brownies were very worried
about Connie, Veve and Miss Gordon. When finally, they saw them
stumbling across the yard, they were waiting joyfully at the kitchen
door.
Grateful for the warmth of the house, the three stomped in to shed
their snow-covered garments. Grandmother Gordon had Veve and Connie sit
in front of the stove with their feet toasting in the oven.
She served hot broth to everyone. After being out so long in the cold,
it tasted good and made the Brownies feel warm through and through.
“I’m worried about Grandfather and Mr. Jeffert,” said Miss Gordon. “I
wonder if they will try to drive back from Goshen in this frightful
blizzard?”
“I hope they decide to remain in town,” Grandmother Gordon replied,
noticing that the kitchen windows were starting to freeze over from the
inside. “But if they do, we may have a difficult time of it here.”
“The stock must be fed,” nodded Miss Gordon.
“And our wood supply soon will be low. As for groceries, we have enough
of sorts, but tomorrow is the day before Christmas. I had planned to do
my cooking and baking for the Christmas feast.”
The Brownies felt rather discouraged when they heard this conversation.
Their parents were due to arrive the following night, and they wondered
if the storm might prevent them from coming.
“Now children, don’t worry,” said Grandmother Gordon when she noticed
the gloomy faces. “I’m sure Grandpa Gordon will drive home tonight if
it’s at all possible.”
Even as she spoke the telephone rang. Three long jingles and two short
ones. That was the Gordon’s call.
Mrs. Gordon went quickly to answer it. She talked a few minutes and
then came back to the kitchen where the Brownies awaited her anxiously.
“It was Grandfather Gordon,” she revealed. “He telephoned from Goshen.”
“From Goshen?” repeated Miss Gordon. “Then he isn’t coming home
tonight.”
“He can’t,” said Grandmother Gordon. “The blizzard is very bad there.
Already the main road is closed, and there’s no telling when a work
crew will have it opened up again.”