Part 7 (1/2)

”Well, my dear,” I tried to say, rea.s.suringly, ”even if he were very near to us we could neither see nor hear him.”

Moments pa.s.sed which seemed like ages, and I scarcely knew what to do.

The absence of all signs of Mr. Jones filled me with a nameless and unspeakable dread. Could anything have happened to him? Could he have lost his way and fallen into some hole or over some steep bank? If I drove on, we might tumble after him and perish, maimed and frozen, in the wreck of the wagon. One imagines all sorts of horrible things when alone and helpless at night.

”Papa,” cried Merton, ”I'll get out and look for Mr. Jones.”

”You are a good, brave boy,” I replied. ”No; you hold the reins, and I'll look for him and see what is just before us.”

At that moment there was a glimmer of light off to the left of us.

CHAPTER XIII

RESCUED AND AT HOME

All that the poets from the beginning of time have written about light could not express my joy as I saw that glimmer approaching on the left.

Before it appeared I had been awed by the tempest, benumbed with cold, s.h.i.+vering in my wet clothes, and a prey to many terrible fears and surmises; but now I cried, ”Cheer up; here comes a light.”

Then in my gladness I shouted the greeting that met Mr. Jones everywhere, ”How are YOU, JOHN?”

A great guffaw of laughter mingled with the howl of the storm, and my neighbor's voice followed from the obscurity: ”That's famous--keepin'

up your courage like a soldier.”

”Oh, I won't brag about keeping up my courage.”

”Guess you didn't know what had become of me?”

”You're right and we didn't know what was to become of us. Now aren't we nearly home? For we are all half frozen.”

”Just let me spy a bit with the lantern, and I'll soon tell you everything.” He bobbed back and forth for a moment or two like a will-o'-the-wisp. ”Now turn sharp to the left, and follow the light.”

A great hope sprung up in my heart, and I hushed Winnie's and Bobsey's crying by saying, ”Listen, and you'll soon hear some good news.”

Our wheels crunched through the deep snow for a few moments, and soon I saw a ruddy light s.h.i.+ning from the window of a dwelling, and then Mr.

Jones shouted, ”Whoa! 'Light down, neighbors; you're at your own door.”

There was a chorus of delighted cries. Merton half tumbled over me in his eagerness to get down. A door opened, and out poured a cheerful glow. Oh the delicious sense of safety and warmth given by it already!

I seized Mousie, floundered through the snow up to my knees, and placed her in a big rocking-chair. Mr. Jones followed with Winnie, and Merton came in with Bobsey on his back. The little fellow was under such headway in crying that he couldn't stop at once, although his tears were rapidly giving place to laughter. I rushed back and carried in my wife, and then said, in a voice a little unsteady from deep feeling, ”Welcome home, one and all.”

Never did the word mean more to a half-frozen and badly frightened family. At first safety, warmth, and comfort were the uppermost in our thoughts, but as wraps were taken off, and my wife and children thawed out, eager-eyed curiosity began to make explorations. Taking Mousie on my lap, and chafing her hands, I answered questions and enjoyed to the full the exclamations of pleasure.

Mr. Jones lingered for a few moments, then gave one of his big guffaws by way of preface, and said: ”Well, you do look as if you was at home and meant to stay. This 'ere scene kinder makes me homesick; so I'll say good-night, and I'll be over in the mornin'. There's some lunch on the table that my wife fixed up for you. I must go, for I hear John junior hollerin' for me.”

His only response to our profuse thanks was another laugh, which the wind swept away.

”Who is John junior?” asked Merton.