CHAPTER XXIVHOME AGAIN
Thechildren needed no snowshoes to lend them speed as they ran down the road. Driving toward them were Mr. Marley and Mr. Larue in a sleigh drawn by a horse Fred recognized as “Old Tom,” one of Mr. Davis’s horses.
“Well, you certainly have upset the family,” said Mr. Marley, as Artie hurled himself into his lap and the others tried to find a place on the runners.
“Did Mother worry?” asked Polly, anxiously. “We were all right, only we couldn’t get home.”
“Of course we worried,” answered Mr. Marley. “I don’t think any one has had a wink of sleep all night. We went up the river as far as Jackson’s Pond, hunting for you, but the wind forced us to give up there.”
“Where did you spend the night?” asked Mr. Larue, his arm around Jess.
“Oh, we stayed at Mrs. Wicks’ house,” said Ward, cheerfully.
“And who is Mrs. Wicks?” asked Mr. Larue, in surprise.
“She’s an old lady—she lives there,” said Polly, pointing to the house. “She had rheumatism in her knee, but she told us what to do and we had good things to eat and everything was lovely.”
“Except staying in the barn,” amended Margy. “A rat ran over me, Mr. Marley.”
“We’ll drive on to Mrs. Wicks’ house,” said Mr. Marley, “and thank her for her kindness. I don’t suppose she has a telephone, and if she had, the wires would probably be down. I’d like to tell the worried mothers that we have found you, safe and sound.”
Mrs. Wicks hobbled to the door to greet her visitors. She seemed delighted to have more company, and she would not hear of their starting back before she had cooked dinner for them.
Mr. Marley and Mr. Larue knew that she spoke wisely. The roads were badly drifted and, in spite of the sunshine, it was bitingly cold. If they had dinner before they started, the ride would be much more comfortable for them all.
So they said they would stay, and Mrs. Wicks hobbled about, delighted to have what she called “a full table.”
“It’s something like!” she said, when they sat down three-quarters of an hour later to a steaminghot dinner. “Something like, to have nine at the table.”
While the girls helped her with the dishes—for anxious as the fathers were to start home they would not leave the old lady with all the extra work to do alone—the boys carried in a great pile of wood, filling the woodbox to overflowing and stacking the sticks on the floor beside it. They fed and watered the chickens, so that a trip out to the henhouse that night would be unnecessary, saw that the lamps were filled, went down to the road to get the milk the neighboring farmer finally brought, and so left Mrs. Wicks assured of a comfortable night.
“We could have brought her home with us, I suppose,” said Mr. Marley, as he tucked the children in under the heavy robes, “but she wouldn’t be happy away from her own home. And she says her niece is coming in a few days to stay with her for the rest of the winter. But we mustn’t forget her. We’ll have to come and see her, often.”
“She isn’t poor, is she, Daddy?” asked Polly, thoughtfully, cuddling up to the heated brick Mrs. Wicks had given her.
The old lady had filled the bottom of the sleigh with hot bricks, wrapped in burlap. They were as good as stoves, the children declared.
“No, Mrs. Wicks isn’t poor—not what we call poor,” answered Mr. Marley, who was driving. “She has money enough to live on and owns her house, she tells me. But she is lonely, and sometimes people need friends more than they need money.”
The dazzling sunshine made the fields and laden trees very beautiful to see, but there was a cold wind, and the snow seemed to have melted very little. For some distance the traveling was fairly good, for the postman’s sleigh had broken the road, but when they turned into another road, unbroken drifts confronted them.
“This ought to save us a mile, so I think it’s worth trying,” said Mr. Marley, as the horse began to flounder. “The way we came was the longer, but we were following the river to find the children.”
Old Tom didn’t care if the road was a shorter one. He didn’t like the big drifts, and he saw no reason why he should pretend he did. He shook his head and snorted and finally stood still.
“We’ll have to get out and encourage him,” said Mr. Larue, cheerfully. “You stay in, Marley, and the boys and I will show old Tom how easy it is to wade through snow, if you make up your mind it can be done.”
Mr. Larue got out and the six chums tumbled after him. The girls begged to help, too, for they were cramped from sitting under the robes. The sleigh was pretty well filled when they were all in it.
“Gee, it is deep, isn’t it!” exclaimed Artie, as he went in to his waist. “But look at that bare spot, over there on the field!”
“That’s what the wind did,” Mr. Larue explained. “It blew all the drifts over into this road and left the fields lightly covered.”
“Why don’t we drive over the fields then?” asked Fred.
“That isn’t such a bad idea, Fred,” called Mr. Marley, who had overheard. “I’ll see if I can turn old Tom and get through the ditch.”
“Easy on the turn,” cautioned Mr. Larue. “The deepest snow is there in the ditch.”
“You’ll tip over!” cried Margy, in alarm. “Do be careful, Mr. Marley!”
Mr. Marley laughed and promised not to tip the sleigh over. He turned the horse’s head toward the ditch and called to him encouragingly. Old Tom merely shook his ears.
“Doesn’t want to try it,” said Mr. Larue. “I’ll see if I can lead him. Here, boy, you’re all right. Come on, that’s a good fellow.”
Talking soothingly to the horse, Mr. Larue took hold of the bridle and pulled gently. The horse pulled also, but the other way.
“He won’t go. Try taking him straight ahead,” Mr. Marley advised. “Look out, Polly—you’re standing in the way.”
Polly took a step backward, lost her balance, and went over full-length into a beautiful snow bank. Her feet, coming up with such startling suddenness were too much for old Tom. With a wild snort he started forward, nearly pulling Mr. Marley from the seat. Plunging and panting, the horse plowed ahead, and in a few minutes had worked his way out of the worst of the drifts.
“Polly! are you all right?” cried Margy, rushing to her chum’s rescue.
“I guess so,” said Polly, a little uncertainly. “Where’s the horse and sleigh?” she asked, in surprise, as Fred and Margy pulled her out and set her on her feet.
“All right, Polly?” asked Mr. Larue, hurrying up. “Yes, you seem to be. Well, that certainly was a novel way to persuade a horse, but it seems to have given us results.”
Polly had to laugh when she heard that her tumble had made old Tom change his mind. She said she wasn’t willing to fall over all the restof the way home, though; but her father said he didn’t think it would be necessary.
They climbed into the sleigh again, warm and rosy from their tramping in the drifts, and old Tom started off as though he had made up his mind to do his best without further protest.
This time Mr. Larue drove, for Mr. Marley’s hands were stiff from the cold. Though old Tom was willing, they could not drive fast, and before they reached the stretch of state road that would take them to River Bend, the heat had gone from the bricks provided by Mrs. Wicks and Margy was crying with cold. Polly and Jess were far from comfortable, but they and the boys were determined to “stick it out.”
“Say, Larue, these youngsters are purple with cold,” said Mr. Marley, suddenly. “We’ll have to stop for a moment and give them some exercise.”
Margy didn’t want to move, but Mr. Marley lifted her out and put her down in the road. The rest followed, and Mr. Larue tied old Tom to a tree.
“Now we have to run,” said Mr. Marley. “From the sleigh to that big maple tree and back, six times. No one can beg off, and the sooner you get through with it, the quicker we’ll be home.”
Margy’s feet were like lead and Polly was sure she had no feet at all. The tree was some distance from the sleigh, and the prospect of running there and back six times loomed like an impossible task. However, Mr. Marley started off, and they could do no less than follow.
“I know my feet are broken off!” thought Polly, limping along. “I won’t look, but I know they’re gone. My mother will be sorry if I come home without any feet.”
Behind her, Margy was still crying, wiping her eyes on her glove as she tried to run. The boys kept at it doggedly, their eyes on the ground.
When she had touched the tree three times, Polly made an interesting discovery—her feet were where they ought to be, right in her shoes. Better, they felt comfortable, and even warm.
By the time they had completed the six trips, every one was in a glow—even Margy was smiling.
“Now another hour, and we’ll be home,” said Mr. Marley. “Tumble in, children, and we’ll be home before you know it.”
The state road provided much easier going. There had been more travel over it since the storm, and occasionally they passed a sleigh or a motor truck. But the horse was sadly tired before they came to River Bend, and they found iteasy to believe when reports came in from the surrounding country that the storm had been the worst, from the point of view of blocking traffic, that the country had experienced in years.
“Are you frozen? Are you hungry? Where on earth did you stay all night? Are you sure you haven’t frozen your ears or your toes?” cried the two mothers together, flying down the steps as the sleigh at last drew up before the Marley house.
And even after they had heard the story and assured themselves that none of the six had suffered from hunger or exposure, the mothers couldn’t rest. They heard the story over and over again, and Mrs. Marley made her husband promise to take her to see Mrs. Wicks as soon as the roads were fairly open. Mrs. Larue said she would go, too, and long after the children were in bed they sat up planning the kind of box they would pack and what they would put in it to please the old lady.