“yes,” said miss olaine, who became deeply interested when she thought she had the attention of her class, and the matter under discussion was one that appealed particularly to herself. “what we want in literature is direct and simple english.

“i wish you young ladies to mark this: epigrams, or flowers of rhetoric, or so-called ‘fine writing,’ does not mark scholarship. the better understanding one has of words and their meanings, the more simply thought may be expressed.

“do you attend me?” she added, sharply, staring straight at tavia. “then to-morrow each of you bring me, expressed in her own language upon paper, her consideration of what simple english means.”

and tavia received another “condition” for presenting and reading aloud to the class, as requested, the following:

“those conglomerated effusions of vapid intellects, which posed in lamented attitudes as the emotional and intellectual ingredients of fictional realism,71 fall far short of the obvious requirements of contemporary demands and violate the traditional models of the transcendent minds of the elizabethan era of glorious memory.”

“you consider yourself very smart, i have no doubt, miss travers,” said miss olaine, sneeringly, “in inventing a specimen of so-called english exactly opposed to the simple language i demanded. you evidently consider that you have been sent here to school to play. we will see what a little extra work will do for you.”

and so tavia had certain tasks to perform that kept her indoors on the next saturday half-holiday. that is why dorothy chanced to set out alone from the school for a long walk.

it was a cold afternoon, and the sun was hidden. there seemed to be a haze over the whole sky. but there was no snow on the ground, and the latter was as hard as iron and rang under her feet.

jack frost had fettered the ponds and streams and frozen the earth, in preparation for the snow that was coming. but dorothy, not being very weatherwise, did not guess what the atmospheric conditions foretold.

it seemed to her to be a very delightful day for walking, for there was no rough wind, and the paths were so hard. she was only sorry that tavia was not with her.

72 it was the apparent peacefulness of the day that tempted her off the highroad into a piece of wood with which she was not very familiar. indeed, she would better have turned back toward the school at the time she entered the wood, for she had then come a long way.

the path she finally struck into was narrow and winding, and the trees loomed thickly on either hand. before she realized her position, it was growing dusk and fine snow was sifting down upon her—from the thick branches of the trees, she thought at first.

“but no! that can’t be,” urged dorothy, suddenly, and aloud. “there hasn’t been any snow for a week, and surely that which fell last would not have lain upon the branches so long. i declare! it’s a storm started. i must get back to glenwood.”

she turned square around—she was positive she did so—and supposedly took the back track. but there were intersecting paths, and all she could see of the sky overhead was a gray blotch of cloud, out of which the snow sifted faster and faster. she had no idea of the points of the compass.

she went on, and on. “i really must get out of this and reach the road,” dorothy told herself. “otherwise i shall be drifting about the woods all night—and it’s altogether too cold to even contemplate that as a possibility.”

73 being cheerful, however, did not culminate in dorothy’s finding the end of the path at once. and when she did so—coming suddenly out into an open place which she did not recognize—the fine snow was driving down so fast that it almost blinded her.

“this is not the road,” thought the girl, with the first shiver of fear that she had felt. “i have got turned about. i shall have to ask——”

whom? through the snow she could see no house—no building of any kind. she stood and listened for several moments, straining her ears to catch the faintest sound above the swish of the driving snow.

there was no other sound. the wind seemed to be rising, and the snow had already gathered to the depth of several inches while she had been rambling in the woods.

“really,” thought dorothy. “i never saw snow gather so fast before.”

she had little trouble at first following the path on the edge of the wood. she knew very well it was not the highway; but it must lead somewhere—and to somewhere she must very quickly make her way!

“if i don’t want to be snowed under completely—be a regular lost ‘babe in the wood’—i must arrive at some place very soon!” was her decision.

the path was a cart track. there was a half-covered74 worm-fence on one hand and the edge of the wood on the other. she had no idea whether she was traveling in the direction of glenwood hall, or exactly the opposite way.

“swish! swish! swish!” hissed the snow. it had a sort of soothing sound; but the fact that she was lost in it was not a soothing idea at all to dorothy.

she staggered on, stumbling in the frozen path, and realizing very keenly that the snow was gathering no faster than the cold was increasing. with the dropping of night the temperature was sliding downward with great rapidity.

dorothy dale was in real peril. the driving snow blinded her; she lost the line of the fence finally, and knew that she was staggering through an open field. she was still in the winding cart-path, for she fell into and out of the ruts continually; but she was traveling across an open farm. the sheltering wood was behind her and the snow drove down upon her, harder than before.

she halted, her back to the increasing wind, and tried to peer ahead. a wall of drifting snow limited the view. she raised her voice and shouted—again and again!

there came no reply. not even a dog barked. she seemed alone in a world of drifting snow, and now she was really terrified.

she was benumbed by the cold and it would be75 impossible for her to travel much farther. if she did not reach some refuge soon——

dorothy plunged on into the storm, scrambling over the rough path, and occasionally raising her voice in cries for help. but she was so breathless and spent that she traveled slowly.

here was a fence corner. the way was open into a narrow lane. several huge oak trees in a row bulked big before her as she pressed on. she could not remember ever having seen the spot before.

but dorothy believed a house must be near. surely she would not be lost—covered up by the snow and frozen to death—near to a human habitation?

“there must be somebody living around here!” she murmured, plowing on through the drifts. “help; help!”

her faint cry brought no response. she was becoming confused as well as weary. the wind increased in force so rapidly that when she again halted and leaned back against it, it seemed to the weakened girl as though she were lying in somebody’s arms!

the snow swept around her like a mantle. it gathered deeply at her feet. she no longer felt the keen air, but was sinking into a pleasant lethargy.

there was peril in this, and at another time dorothy would have understood it fully. but76 she was not now in a state to understand what threatened her. she was only drowsy—weak—almost insensible. another moment and she would have fallen in the snow and sunk into that sleep from which there would be no awakening.

and then, to her dim eyes, appeared a sudden glow of lamplight ahead. it could not be far away, for she heard the hinges of a door creak, and then a voice reached her ears:

“come in here! what are you doing out in that snow—ye good-for-nothin’? ain’t ye got no sinse, i wanter know? av all the young ’uns that iver was bawn, it’s you is the wust av th’ lot. come in here!”

dorothy was aroused by these words. for a moment she thought the woman who spoke must be addressing her. then she heard a thin little voice answer:

“oh, mrs. hogan! i know i heard somebody hollerin’ in the snow. it’s somebody what’s lost, mrs. hogan.”

“nonsinse! come away, now—i’ll have no more av yer foolin’, cely moran. i’ll sind ye ter bed widout yer supper if ye don’t come in out o’ that snow——”

dorothy hardly understood yet; but almost involuntarily she raised her voice in a cry of:

“celia! celia moran!”

she staggered forward into the dim radiance of the light. dorothy dale’s promise. page 77.

77 “do you hear that, mrs. hogan?” shrieked the shrill voice of the child.

“bless us an’ save us!” gasped the woman. “the saints preserve us! ’tis a ghost, it is.”

“what’s a ghost, mrs. hogan?” demanded the inquisitive celia, quick to seize upon a new word.

“’tis a pixie. who knows yer name in this place? come away, child!”

dorothy, who heard them plainly now, cried out again. she staggered forward into the dim radiance of the light that shone from the farmhouse kitchen.

“there she is!” dorothy heard the little one say. then she plunged forward to her knees. mrs. ann hogan, the grenadier, came flying out of the doorway and gathered dorothy right up in her strong arms.

“git out from under fut, ye nuisance!” she commanded, speaking to celia. “av coorse ’tis somebody in trouble. make way, there! lemme near the stove wid her.

“sure, ’tis a most be-uchiful young leddy as ever was. an’ she was lost in the snow—thrue for yez! sure her folks will be payin’ well for her bein’ saved from death this night.

“shut the door, cely. put on the kettle—she must have somethin’ hot. stir yer stumps, cely moran, or i’ll be the death of ye!”