FullReads

The only thing was to press on. Some one had blundered, of course.

“Half a league, half a league–into the jaws,” etc.

“Theirs not to reason why–” But my duty was plain; the audience were already assembling; the early ones in their seats by this time.

Then an inspiration surged through me. Why not slip the umbrella through the handle of one bag, as Pat carries his shillalah and bundle of duds, and grab the other in my free hand! Our carriage couldn’t be far off. The exercise would keep my blood active and my feet from freezing, and as to the road, was there not the fence, its top rail making rabbit jumps above the drifts?

So I trudged on, stumbling into holes, flopping into treacherous ruts, halting in the steeper places to catch my breath, till I reached the top of the hill. There I halted–stopped short, in fact: the fence had given out! In its place was a treacherous line of bushes that faded into a delusive clump of trees. Beyond, and on both sides, stretched a great white silence–still as death.

Another council of war. I could retrace my steps, smash in the windows of the station, and camp for the night, taking my chances of stopping some east-bound train as it whizzed past, with a match and my necktie–or I could stumble on, perhaps in a circle, and be found in the morning by the early milk.

On! On once more–maybe the clump of trees hid something–maybe–

Here a light flashed–a mere speck of a light–not to the right, where lay the clump of trees–but to my left; then a faint wave of warm color rose from a chimney and curled over a low roof buried in snow. Again the light flashed–this time through a window with four panes of glass–each one a beacon to a storm-tossed mariner!

On once more–into a low hollow–up a steep slope–slipping, falling, shoving the hand-gripped bag ahead of me to help my footing, until I reached a snow-choked porch and a closed door.

Here I knocked.

For some seconds there was no sound; then came a heavy tread, and a man in overalls threw wide the door.

“Well, what do you want at this time of night?” (Time of night, and it but seven-thirty!)

“I’m the lecturer,” I panted.

“Oh, come! Ain’t they sent for ye? Here, I’ll take ’em. Walk in and welcome. You look beat out. Well–well–wife and I was won-derin’ why nothin’ driv past for the six-ten. We knowed you was comin’. Then agin, the station master’s sick, and I ‘spose ye couldn’t warm up none. And they ain’t sent for ye? And they let ye tramp all–Well–well!”

I did not answer. I hadn’t breath enough left for sustained conversation; moreover, there was a red-hot stove ahead of me, and a rocking-chair,–comforts I had never expected to see again–and there was a pine table–oh, a lovely pine table, with a most exquisite white oil-cloth cover, holding the most beautiful kerosene lamp with a piece of glorious red flannel floating in its amber fluid; and in the corner–a wife–a sweet-faced, angelic-looking young wife, with a baby in her arms too beautiful for words–must have been!

I dropped into the chair, spread my fingers to the stove and looked around–warmth–rest-peace–comfort–companionship–all in a minute!

“No, they didn’t send anything,” I wheezed when my breath came. “The conductor told me I should find the farmhouse over the hill–and–“

“Yes, that’s so; it’s back a piece, you must have missed it.”

“Yes–I must have missed it,” I continued in a dazed way.

“The folks at the farmhouse is goin’ to hear ye speak, so they told me. Must be startin’ now.”

“Would you please let them know I am here, and–“

“Sure! Wait till I get on my boots! Hello!–that’s him now.”

Again the door swung wide. This time it let in a fur overcoat, coon-skin cap, two gray yarn mittens, a pair of raw-beefsteak cheeks and a voice like a fog-horn.

“Didn’t send for ye? Wall, I’ll be gol-durned! And yer had to fut it? Well, don’ that beat all. And yer ain’t the fust one they’ve left down here to get up the best way they could. Last winter–Jan’ry, warn’t it, Bill?” Bill nodded–“there come a woman from New York and they dumped her out jes’ same as you. I happened to come along in time, as luck would have it–I was haulin’ a load of timber on my bob-sled–and there warn’t nothin’ else, so I took her up to the village. She got in late, of course, but they was a-waitin’ for her. I really wasn’t goin’ to hear you speak to-night–we git so much of that sort of thing since the old man who left the money to pay you fellers for talkin’ died–been goin’ on ten years now–but I’ll take yer ‘long with me, and glad to. But yer oughter have somethin’ warmer’n what yer got on. Wind’s kinder nippy down here, but it ain’t nothin’ to the way it bites up on the ridge.”