FullReads

Wherein is Set Forth the Courage and Resourcefulness of Youth

A Story for Boys

Every boy likes snow on Christmas Day, but there is such a thing as too
much of it. Henry Ives, alone in the long railroad coach, stared out of
the clouded windows at the whirling mass of snow with feelings of
dismay. It was the day before Christmas, almost Christmas Eve. Henry did
not feel any too happy, indeed he had hard work to keep down a sob. His
mother had died but a few weeks before and his father, the captain of a
freighter on the Great Lakes, had decided, very reluctantly, to send him
to his brother who had a big ranch in western Nebraska.

Henry had never seen his uncle or his aunt. He did not know what kind
of people they were. The loss of his mother had been a terrible blow to
him and to be separated from his father had filled his cup of sorrow to
the brim. His father’s work did not end with the close of navigation on
the lakes, and he could not get away then although he promised to come
and see Henry before the ice broke and traffic was resumed in the
spring.

The long journey from the little Ohio town on Lake Erie to western
Nebraska had been without mishap. His uncle’s ranch lay far away from
the main line of the railroad on the end of the branch. There was but
one train a day upon it, and that was a mixed train. The coach in which
Henry sat was attached to the end of a long string of freight cars.
Travel was infrequent in that section of the country. On this day Henry
was the only passenger.

The train had been going up-grade for many miles and had just about
reached the crest of the divide. Bucking the snow had become more and
more difficult; several times the train had stopped. Sometimes the
engine backed the train some distance to get headway to burst through
the drift. So Henry thought nothing of it when the car came to a gentle
stop.

The all-day storm blew from the west and the front windows of the car
were covered with snow so he could not see ahead. Some time before the
conductor and rear brakeman had gone forward to help dig the engine out
of the drift and they had not come back.

Henry sat in silence for some time watching the whirling snow. He was
sad; even the thought of the gifts of his father and friends in his
trunk which stood in the baggage compartment of the car did not cheer
him. More than all the Christmas gifts in the world, he wanted at that
time his mother and father and friends.

“It doesn’t look as though it was going to be a very merry Christmas for
me,” he said aloud at last, and then feeling a little stiff from having
sat still so long he got up and walked to the front of the car.

It was warm and pleasant in the coach. The Baker heater was going at
full blast and Henry noticed that there was plenty of coal. He tried to
see out from the front door; but as he was too prudent to open it and
let in the snow and cold he could make out nothing. The silence rather
alarmed him. The train had never waited so long before.

Then, suddenly, came the thought that something very unusual was wrong.
He must get a look at the train ahead. He ran back to the rear door,
opened it and standing on the leeward side, peered forward. The engine
and freight cars were not there! All he saw was the deep cut filled
nearly to the height of the car with snow.