As she reached the top of the bluff there was a moment’s lull in the storm, and Anna could clearly see the wide branched juniper bushes where she had left Melvina.
“Melly! Melly!” she called, scrambling down the slope. But there was no answer; and in a moment Anna realized that Melvina was not under the trees.
The storm began again with even greater violence, and Anna was obliged to cling closely to the rough branches to keep from being swept down the slope. She could hear the dash of the waves on the shore, and she trembled at the thought that Melvina might have been swept down into the angry waters.
After a little Anna, on her hands and knees, crawled up the slope, clinging to bits of grass here and there, and not venturing to stand upright until she had reached the top.
She knew what she must do now, and she did not hesitate. She must go straight to Mr. Lyon’s house and tell him the story from the moment that she had told Melvina that pine trees were alders. For a moment she wondered what would become of her afterward; but only for a moment did she think of herself.
It seemed to the little girl that she would never reach the minister’s house. For a moment she rested in the shelter of the church, and then dragged herself on. Her feet hurt so badly now that it was all she could do to walk.
There were lights to be seen, up-stairs and down, at the parsonage; but Anna did not wonder at this. She managed to reach the front door and to lift the knocker.
In a moment London opened the door, holding a candle above his head.
“Well, boy, who be ye?” he questioned sharply, seeing only Anna’s curly brown head.
“If you please, I am Anna Weston,” faltered the little girl. “I—I—must see the minister. It’s about Melvina.”