a track around, an' the barn an' house was all drifted up. I
pushed the door open; it was cold as a barn, an' dark. I couldn't see
anythin' f'r a minute, but I heard a sound o' cryin' from the bed that
made my hair stand up. I rushed over there, an' there lay the mother on
the bed, with nothin' on but some kind of a night-dress, an'
everythin'--dress, shawl, an' all--piled on an' around that blessed
child."

"She was sleepin'?"

"Like a stone. I couldn't believe it at first. I raved around there,
split up a chair an' the shelves, an' made a fire. Then I started to
rub the woman's hands an' feet, but she was cold an' hard as iron."
Bert shuddered in sympathy. "Then I took the child up an' rubbed her;
tried to find somethin' f'r her to eat--not a blessed thing in that
house! Finally I thought I better bolt f'r home----"

"Lucky you did. Hear that wind! Great heavens! We are in for another
two-days' blow of it. That woman, of course, stripped herself to save
the child."

"Yes: she did."

"Jes' like a woman! Why didn't she rip down the shelf an' split up the
chairs for fuel, or keep walkin' up an' down the room?"

"Now, there it is! She _had_ burnt up a lot o' stuff, then took to bed
with the child. She rolled her up in all the quilts an' shawls an'
dresses they was in the house; then laid down by the side of her, an'
put her arm over her--an' froze--jes' like a mother--no judgment!"

"Well, lay her down now, an' eat some thin' y'rself, while I go out an'
look after the chores. Lord! it makes me crawl to think of that woman
layin' there in the shanty all alone!" he turned and said in a peculiar
hesitating voice. He shivered a little as he spoke. "Say, did y' shut
the door?"

"Yes: an' it shuts hard. The wind n'r wolves can't open it."

"That's good. I couldn't sleep nights if I thought the coyotes could
get in." Bert's imagination seized upon that lonely cabin and the
figure lying cold as iron upon the bed. It appealed to him more than to
Anson.

By four o'clock it was dark, and the lamp was lighted when Bert came
in, bringing an immense load of hay-twists. The ferocious wind, as if
exulting in its undisputed sway over the plain, raved in ceaseless fury
around the cabin, and lashed the roof with a thousand stinging streams
of snow. The tiny shanty did not rock; it shuddered as if with fright.
The drifts rose higher on the windows, and here and there through some
unseen crevice the snow, fine as bolted flour, fo