HOME AGAIN
The children needed no snowshoes to lend them speed as they ran down
the road. Driving toward them were Mr. Marley and Mr. Larue in a sleigh
drawn by a horse Fred recognized as “Old Tom,” one of Mr. Davis’s
horses.
“Well, you certainly have upset the family,” said Mr. Marley, as Artie
hurled himself into his lap and the others tried to find a place on the
runners.
“Did Mother worry?” asked Polly, anxiously. “We were all right, only we
couldn’t get home.”
“Of course we worried,” answered Mr. Marley. “I don’t think any one has
had a wink of sleep all night. We went up the river as far as Jackson’s
Pond, hunting for you, but the wind forced us to give up there.”
“Where did you spend the night?” asked Mr. Larue, his arm around Jess.
“Oh, we stayed at Mrs. Wicks’ house,” said Ward, cheerfully.
“And who is Mrs. Wicks?” asked Mr. Larue, in surprise.
“She’s an old lady--she lives there,” said Polly, pointing to the
house. “She had rheumatism in her knee, but she told us what to do and
we had good things to eat and everything was lovely.”
“Except staying in the barn,” amended Margy. “A rat ran over me, Mr.
Marley.”
“We’ll drive on to Mrs. Wicks’ house,” said Mr. Marley, “and thank her
for her kindness. I don’t suppose she has a telephone, and if she had,
the wires would probably be down. I’d like to tell the worried mothers
that we have found you, safe and sound.”
Mrs. Wicks hobbled to the door to greet her visitors. She seemed
delighted to have more company, and she would not hear of their
starting back before she had cooked dinner for them.
Mr. Marley and Mr. Larue knew that she spoke wisely. The roads were
badly drifted and, in spite of the sunshine, it was bitingly cold.
If they had dinner before they started, the ride would be much more
comfortable for them all.
So they said they would stay, and Mrs. Wicks hobbled about, delighted
to have what she called “a full table.”
“It’s something like!” she said, when they sat down three-quarters of
an hour later to a steaming hot dinner. “Something like, to have nine
at the table.”
While the girls helped her with the dishes--for anxious as the fathers
were to start home they would not leave the old lady with all the extra
work to do alone--the boys carried in a great pile of wood, filling the
woodbox to overflowing and stacking the sticks on the floor beside it.
They fed and watered the chickens, so that a trip out to the henhouse
that night would be unnecessary, saw that the lamps were filled,
went down to the road to get the milk the neighboring farmer finally
brought, and so left Mrs. Wicks assured of a comfortable night.
“We could have brought her home with us, I suppose,” said Mr. Marley,
as he tucked the children in under the heavy robes, “but she wouldn’t
be happy away from her own home. And she says her niece is coming in a
few days to stay with her for the rest of the winter. But we mustn’t
forget her. We’ll have to come and see her, often.”
“She isn’t poor, is she, Daddy?” asked Polly, thoughtfully, cuddling up
to the heated brick Mrs. Wicks had given her.
The old lady had filled the bottom of the sleigh with hot bricks,
wrapped in burlap. They were as good as stoves, the children declared.
“No, Mrs. Wicks isn’t poor--not what we call poor,” answered Mr.
Marley, who was driving. “She has money enough to live on and owns
her house, she tells me. But she is lonely, and sometimes people need
friends more than they need money.”
The dazzling sunshine made the fields and laden trees very beautiful
to see, but there was a cold wind, and the snow seemed to have melted
very little. For some distance the traveling was fairly good, for the
postman’s sleigh had broken the road, but when they turned into another
road, unbroken drifts confronted them.
“This ought to save us a mile, so I think it’s worth trying,” said
Mr. Marley, as the horse began to flounder. “The way we came was the
longer, but we were following the river to find the children.”
Old Tom didn’t care if the road was a shorter one. He didn’t like the
big drifts, and he saw no reason why he should pretend he did. He shook
his head and snorted and finally stood still.
“We’ll have to get out and encourage him,” said Mr. Larue, cheerfully.
“You stay in, Marley, and the boys and I will show old Tom how easy it
is to wade through snow, if you make up your mind it can be done.”
Mr. Larue got out and the six chums tumbled after him. The girls begged
to help, too, for they were cramped from sitting under the robes. The
sleigh was pretty well filled when they were all in it.
“Gee, it is deep, isn’t it!” exclaimed Artie, as he went in to his
waist. “But look at that bare spot, over there on the field!”
“That’s what the wind did,” Mr. Larue explained. “It blew all the
drifts over into this road and left the fields lightly covered.”
“Why don’t we drive over the fields then?” asked Fred.
“That isn’t such a bad idea, Fred,” called Mr. Marley, who had
overheard. “I’ll see if I can turn old Tom and get through the ditch.”
“Easy on the turn,” cautioned Mr. Larue. “The deepest snow is there in
the ditch.”
“You’ll tip over!” cried Margy, in alarm. “Do be careful, Mr. Marley!”
Mr. Marley laughed and promised not to tip the sleigh over. He turned
the horse’s head toward the ditch and called to him encouragingly. Old
Tom merely shook his ears.
“Doesn’t want to try it,” said Mr. Larue. “I’ll see if I can lead him.
Here, boy, you’re all right. Come on, that’s a good fellow.”
Talking soothingly to the horse, Mr. Larue took hold of the bridle and
pulled gently. The horse pulled also, but the other way.
“He won’t go. Try taking him straight ahead,” Mr. Marley advised. “Look
out, Polly--you’re standing in the way.”
Polly took a step backward, lost her balance, and went over full-length
into a beautiful snow bank. Her feet, coming up with such startling
suddenness were too much for old Tom. With a wild snort he started
forward, nearly pulling Mr. Marley from the seat. Plunging and panting,
the horse plowed ahead, and in a few minutes had worked his way out of
the worst of the drifts.
“Polly! are you all right?” cried Margy, rushing to her chum’s rescue.
“I guess so,” said Polly, a little uncertainly. “Where’s the horse and
sleigh?” she asked, in surprise, as Fred and Margy pulled her out and
set her on her feet.
“All right, Polly?” asked Mr. Larue, hurrying up. “Yes, you seem to be.
Well, that certainly was a novel way to persuade a horse, but it seems
to have given us results.”
Polly had to laugh when she heard that her tumble had made old Tom
change his mind. She said she wasn’t willing to fall over all the rest
of the way home, though; but her father said he didn’t think it would
be necessary.
They climbed into the sleigh again, warm and rosy from their tramping
in the drifts, and old Tom started off as though he had made up his
mind to do his best without further protest.
This time Mr. Larue drove, for Mr. Marley’s hands were stiff from the
cold. Though old Tom was willing, they could not drive fast, and before
they reached the stretch of state road that would take them to River
Bend, the heat had gone from the bricks provided by Mrs. Wicks and
Margy was crying with cold. Polly and Jess were far from comfortable,
but they and the boys were determined to “stick it out.”
“Say, Larue, these youngsters are purple with cold,” said Mr. Marley,
suddenly. “We’ll have to stop for a moment and give them some exercise.”
Margy didn’t want to move, but Mr. Marley lifted her out and put her
down in the road. The rest followed, and Mr. Larue tied old Tom to a
tree.
“Now we have to run,” said Mr. Marley. “From the sleigh to that big
maple tree and back, six times. No one can beg off, and the sooner you
get through with it, the quicker we’ll be home.”
Margy’s feet were like lead and Polly was sure she had no feet at all.
The tree was some distance from the sleigh, and the prospect of running
there and back six times loomed like an impossible task. However, Mr.
Marley started off, and they could do no less than follow.
“I know my feet are broken off!” thought Polly, limping along. “I won’t
look, but I know they’re gone. My mother will be sorry if I come home
without any feet.”
Behind her, Margy was still crying, wiping her eyes on her glove as she
tried to run. The boys kept at it doggedly, their eyes on the ground.
When she had touched the tree three times, Polly made an interesting
discovery--her feet were where they ought to be, right in her shoes.
Better, they felt comfortable, and even warm.
By the time they had completed the six trips, every one was in a
glow--even Margy was smiling.
“Now another hour, and we’ll be home,” said Mr. Marley. “Tumble in,
children, and we’ll be home before you know it.”
The state road provided much easier going. There had been more travel
over it since the storm, and occasionally they passed a sleigh or a
motor truck. But the horse was sadly tired before they came to River
Bend, and they found it easy to believe when reports came in from the
surrounding country that the storm had been the worst, from the point
of view of blocking traffic, that the country had experienced in years.
“Are you frozen? Are you hungry? Where on earth did you stay all night?
Are you sure you haven’t frozen your ears or your toes?” cried the two
mothers together, flying down the steps as the sleigh at last drew up
before the Marley house.
And even after they had heard the story and assured themselves that
none of the six had suffered from hunger or exposure, the mothers
couldn’t rest. They heard the story over and over again, and Mrs.
Marley made her husband promise to take her to see Mrs. Wicks as soon
as the roads were fairly open. Mrs. Larue said she would go, too, and
long after the children were in bed they sat up planning the kind of
box they would pack and what they would put in it to please the old
lady.