Ned Wilding's Disappearance: or, The Darewell Chums in the City. Chapman Allen
suggested Fenn. “We’re on a hill here and get the full force of the wind. If we go on a bit we may find a better place.”
“Good idea!” exclaimed Bart. “Come on, fellows!”
He seized hold of the sled rope and began to pull, the others joining him. There was no choice of direction, so they turned to get the wind on their backs.
With grim perseverance they kept on. The wind seemed fairly to carry them forward, though it was hard to struggle through the drifts they encountered every once in a while. As they had no particular path to take, they avoided the big hummocks of snow as much as they could.
“I’ll have to stop!” declared Fenn, after a bit of hard pulling. “My wind’s giving out!”
“I wish the wind up above would,” murmured Bart as he tried to peer through the clouds of flakes to see where they were.
“Let’s stay here,” suggested Fenn. “If we’ve got to camp in the storm this place is as good as any.”
“That’s what I say,” remarked Frank. “This seems to be well sheltered.”
There came a momentary let-up to the gale. The snow did not seem to fall so thickly and the boys eagerly looked around them.
“There’s something over that way!” cried Ned, pointing to the left. “It looked like a barn or house. Let’s try for it!”
Then the wind swept down on them again, blotting out, in the swirl of flakes, whatever Ned had seen. But he had an idea of the direction it was in, and started off toward it.
“Here, come back and help pull the sled!” cried Bart, and the four boys, led by Ned, dragged the heavy load toward the spot where the building had been noticed.
They did not see it again until they were within ten feet of it, and then made out a lonely cabin in the midst of a clearing in the woods. The snow was half way up to the first floor window sills.
“There’s some one inside!” shouted Bart, as he saw smoke curling from the chimney. “Knock on the door! I’m half frozen!”
But there was no need to knock. The door was opened and a little girl peered out.
“Can we come in and get warm?” asked Ned. “We’re lost in the storm.”
“Who is it?” asked a woman’s voice, as she came to the door.
“We were camping out,” explained Bart, “and the storm caught us as we were about to go home. We live in Darewell.”
“Come in!” the woman exclaimed. “Our cabin is poor enough but it is better than the woods in such a storm. I’m sorry we can’t offer you anything to eat, but we have only a little for ourselves and there’s no telling when we’ll get more.”
“And to-morrow’s Thanksgiving,” murmured Ned in a low voice.
The boys stamped the snow from their feet and entered the cabin. There were two rooms downstairs and two up. In the apartment they entered was a stove in which a wood fire burned. In one corner stood a table with a few dishes on it, and there was a cupboard. Some chairs completed the furnishings. Close to the fire, clad in a ragged dress, sat a little girl. The boys needed but one glance to see that the family was in dire straits.
“My name is Perry,” the woman said. “I live here with my two daughters. The town of Kirkville supports us. The poormaster brought some food last week but he hasn’t been here this week, and we are afraid he can not come because of the storm. Otherwise I could offer you something to eat,” and she turned aside her head to hide her tears.
“Don’t cry, mother,” exclaimed the child who had been sitting near the fire. “We’re not very hungry, and maybe the snow will stop. We had a nice Thanksgiving last year – and – and – ”
“I’m afraid we’ll have a poor one to-morrow,” Mrs. Perry replied. “But boys, come closer to the fire. You must be cold. At least we have plenty of wood. That is free, and my daughters gathered a lot the other day in the woods.”
“Mrs. Perry – ahem, ma’am – that is – er – I mean – Oh, hang it! Ain’t any of you going to help a fellow out!” exclaimed Ned, clearing his throat with unnecessary violence. “What I mean is we’ve got a lot of things to eat, on our sled. We’d be glad to have you – Oh, here! Boys come on out and bring in some of the things!” and before the astonished woman knew what was happening Ned and his chums were out in the snow fairly tearing the things off the sled. In they trooped again, bearing turkeys, rabbits, and a lot of the camp food they had not eaten.
“Oh, it’s just like Santa Claus!” cried the little girl. “I knew we’d have Thanksgiving, mommey!”
But Mrs. Perry was crying, with her head down on the table.
Indeed the room did look as if it was ready for some sort of holiday feast. It was fairly crowded with the things the boys had brought in.
“I don’t – don’t know what to say,” Mrs. Perry exclaimed, as she dried her eyes. “Are you sure you can spare so much?”
“Spare it? Say we’ve eaten so much lately we’ll be sick!” broke in Bart, with a laugh. “Now we’ll make a better fire, and if you’ll get some of these turkeys and rabbits ready you can have a dinner. There’s some other things, – canned stuff, you know.”
By this time the older girl, whose name, the boys learned, was Jane, was placing some of the things aside. Her mother helped her, while Mary, the younger daughter, seemed, from mere astonishment, unable to stir. She sat gazing at the pile of good things as if they might suddenly vanish.
The boys brought in more wood and began to help with the meal. In a little while they had a good one ready, using some of the camp food, while the turkeys and rabbits were put away for the next day.
The boys told something of themselves, and, in turn, Mrs. Perry related how her husband had died a few years before, leaving her with a small farm, and three children, a boy and the two girls. The farm, she said, had been taken because they could not pay the interest on the mortgage, and there had been nothing left for them.
The town gave them the use of the little cabin, and they managed to make something of a living, for Mrs. Perry did sewing for women in the village, which was about three miles away. They had a little garden patch, and raised some fruit.
“You said you – you had a son?” asked Ned gently. “Is he – ”
“No, he isn’t dead,” replied Mrs. Perry sadly. “Poor boy, I wish I knew where he was. He tried to help us, as much as he could,” she went on. “But there was no work for him around here, and so he decided to try and get work. He went to the city and wrote me that he was going to sea. He said he had a good position, and would send me some money.”
“Did he?” asked Bart.
“I have never heard from him since,” the widow replied. “I’m afraid he is dead,” and she began to cry again.
“Perhaps not,” suggested Ned, as cheerfully as he could. “Maybe he is on a long voyage and can’t write. Or perhaps he has written and the letters have gone astray. I would not worry. He may come back.”
“I think Willie is alive,” remarked Jane. “He was a very proud boy, and perhaps when he found he could not earn money enough to send home, he decided to stay away until he could. Maybe he is ashamed to come home.”
“Oh, he knows I would forgive him! I would be glad to see him if he never had a penny!” exclaimed Mrs. Perry.
“I’ll bet he’ll turn up all right,” put in Fenn. “He’s only waiting until he can come back rich.”
“It’s been about a year now,” the widow went on. “Willie was fifteen when he left, and he’d be sixteen now. It’s his first birthday away from home.”
The boys did their best to comfort her, and she seemed to feel a little better after telling her troubles. The girls were certainly more cheerful after the meal.
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