“Hello!” she shouted forth into the snow-filled world. But there was no answer and the sound of her own voice, so hollow and lonely, did anything but cheer her up, so she did not try again.
With one last great effort of will she tried to move the stubborn left foot. It was useless,—stuck in the snow and helpless it remained.
“Oh,” she murmured, the tears beginning to run down her cheeks to mingle with the wet snow flakes melting there.
All of a sudden a dark form loomed up out of the blinding snow immediately ahead. There was the jar of a collision. Peggy clutched her hands together, not knowing whether to be glad or terrified.
And then she saw that the figure was that of a very red-faced young man, who was also wearing snow-shoes.
“Friday!” Peggy cried out, realizing in one illuminating instant that this was the track-maker she had been following as Crusoe.
“No, it’s Saturday,” replied the young man, somewhat puzzled, “but I don’t see what that has to do with it. I’m awfully afraid I hurt you, bumping into you like that, but I never dreamed there was anyone about in a storm like this. Have you seen anything of a little dog? I lost him a while back.”
“No,” shivered Peggy. “I’m afraid there isn’t much use looking for him if he’s very little. Here am I a perfectly strong girl and yet even I can’t go any farther. I—can’t—go—another—step—” Sobs fought with her words, and the young good-looking face grew redder than ever.
“Tired?” he asked, “so tired that you can’t walk? Well, then, I’m mighty glad I came. Wait just a minute till I get a deep breath and I’ll carry you. The extra weight will make us sink in a lot in this soft snow, but if you don’t mind the joggly walking I can easily manage—”
Peggy shook her head. “No, you’d better go on by yourself,” she insisted. “I think a person would be awfully hard to carry in snow-shoes, they’d hang down and flop about so. And I’m sorry about your poor little dog, but I think it isn’t any use your waiting for him. You’d much better save yourself,” she advised.