Half a dozen boys

by Anna Chapin Ray

"Not a bit of it," said Bess gayly. "You go stay with him, and Bridget and I will get you up a codfish lunch fit for a king."

The day slowly wore on, and the storm still raged.

"It will go down at night," Mrs. Carter had said, but as it grew dark the snow and wind were fiercer than ever; and it was evident that Mr. Carter could not get home that night. At dinner-time it was discovered that the dining-room on the north side of the house must be abandoned, for it was not only very cold, but the snow had forced its way under the door, and a small drift lay across the floor, where it melted and trickled lazily about the room.

By evening Bess felt that she had her hands full, between her duties as stoker, consoling Bridget, who, with the superstition of her race, declared this to be the forerunner of the day of judgment, cheering up her anxious mother, and quieting Fred's fears. The boy tried to be brave, but, in his inability to see the storm, he pictured it as far worse than it really was, and was thoroughly frightened and miserable. Looking up from her magazine, Bess watched him as he moved restlessly from window to window, stopping at each and resting his head against the glass, as if trying to see out into the night. Then she rose and joined him, as he dejectedly turned away. As usual, his face brightened when he felt her hand on his shoulder; and, arm in arm, they walked up and down the long room, while Bess talked busily, hoping to tire him out until he should be ready to sleep. But it was late before he could be persuaded to go to bed, and, although Bess went to his room often during the night, she found him always awake and tossing restlessly, though he made no complaint. The morning found them all rather exhausted, and the boy seemed worn out with his long wakefulness. It still snowed fast, but the wind had died down a little. After a breakfast of such materials as they chanced to have on hand, Bess tucked Fred up on the sofa, hoping he might drop to sleep, and retired to the kitchen, to take an account of stock.

"Only two potatoes left, Bridget! How did we get so nearly out? And just this piece of cold steak and some codfish? Well, we must make the best of it all. They say fish is good for our brains."

"Sure," remarked Bridget sagely, "we'd better be 'atin' a lot of it, thin, for it needs all the brains we can get to know how to get three meals a day, wid nothin' to make 'em of. And all the clo'es layin' wet in the tubs, miss! What in the world will we do wid 'em?"

The second day was longer than the first. Mr. Carter, they knew, was safe in his office, while a restaurant on the ground floor of the building would supply him with food; but they trembled to think of the suffering among the poor about them, suffering that they were powerless to relieve. The time dragged slowly along. Late in the day the wind ceased, and after their dinner Fred threw himself on the sofa, and at once dropped to sleep from sheer exhaustion. Bess covered him gently, and then followed her mother into the parlor, where she dropped into a chair.

"At last," she whispered, with a backward glance at the brown head on the pillow, "I can draw a long breath. That child hasn't slept a moment since yesterday morning. It is strange how nervous he has been."

"It has been a fearful storm for all of us," Mrs. Carter replied, "and it has been even worse for him. He has been so brave and uncomplaining that I suppose we have no idea what he has suffered. And I confess that I didn't sleep much more than you and he last night. I wish I knew that no poor people were starving to death or freezing."

"I dread to hear the reports from the storm," said Bess soberly. "We have come out quite well. But you go to bed and try to have a little sleep. I'll stay here and wait for Fred to wake up. I hate to disturb him."