What awoke Dorothy she could not tell. For the first few moments she lay still, realizing that there was a deadly chill in the air outside of the heavy mass of bedclothing that weighed her body down. The frosty air did not seem at all like the air of the room she occupied with Tavia at Glenwood Hall.

Then—with something of a shock—she remembered that she was not with Tavia, or at Glenwood Hall!

She felt the pressure of the warm little body of Celia, curled up like a kitten in a ball, beside her in the bed of the best room at Mrs. Hogan’s house. There was light enough in the room for her to see the grim, bare nature of the place—its ugly furniture and the plain rag carpet on the floor.

She looked at the uncurtained window and to her amazement saw that, from bottom to top, it was masked with snow. It looked as though the drift was higher than the very top of the window!

108 Was it still snowing, or had the storm ceased? Not a sound came from without; nor could she detect a sound within the house.

There was no clock in the room and Dorothy’s own watch was in the kitchen where she had left her clothing. She stirred about to gain an easier position, and the little body of Celia Moran uncurled.

“Oh! oh! Tom—Dorothy——”

The murmur of the child’s voice served to wake Dorothy properly. Celia was dreaming—of Dorothy herself, and of her lost brother. The older girl kissed her, laid her touseled head upon the pillow, and then crept out of the warm feathers into the cold, cold room.

There was a matchbox on the mantel behind the small sheet-iron stove. With chattering teeth the Glenwood girl reached the matches, stooped by the door of the stove, scratched the lucifer, and ignited the shavings and corncobs which made sufficient kindling in the firebox to set off the hardwood sticks piled in above the tinder.

The fire began to roar almost instantly. She darted back across the icy floor and crept again into bed. Whether it was morning, or not, Dorothy determined to have a fire and somehow kill the deadly chill of that guest room.

Celia still slept. The yellow light of the fire began to send dancing reflections upon the ceiling109 through the perforated draft of the stove. Dorothy lay there and listened to the fire’s roar; but there was no other sound in the house for some time.

The atmosphere of the room perceptibly changed. There was a little blue haze in the air and the smell of burning varnish, for the careful Mrs. Hogan had painted the stove to keep it from rusting and perhaps this was the first time it had been used during the winter.

By and by Dorothy heard the creak of the stair under the heavy tread of the farm woman. It must, the schoolgirl judged, be time to rise; yet the snow drift kept out the morning light.

She heard Mrs. Hogan at the kitchen stove, raking down the ashes and rattling the dampers. By and by she came through the hall and opened the door.

“Ha!” she said. “Ye have a boomin’ fire—an’ all goin’ up the chimney, av coorse. Fuel is nothin’ to the rich. Git up out o’ that, Cely Moran! D’ye wanter lie abed all day? ’Tis long past sivin o’clock, and we’re snowed in to the second story—an’ still ’tis snowin’. Git up, I say!”

Meanwhile she had partly closed the back draft and the fire roared less angrily. Celia stirred sleepily.

“Good morning!” Dorothy said to Mrs.110 Hogan. “I am going to get up, too. Will you put my clothes in here? It is getting nice and warm now.”

“I’ll sind thim in by Cely. Git out o’ that bed, now—plague o’ me life! Scatter out inter the kitchen,” and she drove the little one before her as one would shoo a chicken.

“It really isn’t snowing now; is it?” cried Dorothy, before Mrs. Hogan could shut the door.

“Indade it is—snowin’ hard. I kin see it from me winder upstairs. But the house is drifted around, till there’s a bank before me kitchen door higher than the lintel. And me’ kitchen pump’s froze. Lucky there’s water in the tea kettle and I’ll soon have it thawed. Ye’ll find water—or ice—in that pitcher yonder, Miss.”

The woman retreated. Celia, as soon as she had got into her own clothes, brought in Dorothy’s garments and hung them carefully on chairs about the stove to warm before the bigger girl put them on.

“You’re a dear little maid!” cried Dorothy. “Thank you.”

“I wish I could go to that school and work for you,” said Celia, wistfully. “Don’t you suppose I............