“Worse?” Pam’s eyebrows went up. To her it did not seem possible that there could be anything worse than this white imprisonment, walled in on every side, and with the silent but persistent fall of snow.
Sophy laughed, and nodded. “Two years ago I had to go over and keep house for Aunt Marion while she went to Europe. She lives ever so far from here, right away in the beech wood district beyond Selkirk. Her husband, Uncle Horace, had to go to the town for stores. It came on to snow as it has been doing these last two days, and he could not get back, and I was alone with Leo and Winnie, the two children. Leo was ten, and Winnie six. The worst of it was, our stores were nearly out. We had so little kerosene that we had to creep to bed when it got dark, and stay there until daylight came again. We had no sugar, the flour was almost out, and it was nearly a week before anyone could get through to help us.”
“What did you do?” gasped Pam.
“Oh, the best we could. We told each other things. I taught the children how to spell, and we recited the multiplication table every day. Their father said their education had taken great strides by the time he came home. It was just a question of making the best of it, and not worrying. Of course, it was horrid being short of provisions, but we had potatoes, a pail of lard, and some bacon, so we might have been worse off.”
“Sophy, you are one of the world’s splendid women, and I am just proud to know you!” Pam sprang up from her seat as she spoke, and swept Sophy a low bow. They were both laughing over her exaggerated deference when Don came gliding out from the forest on snow-shoes, and they rushed to the door to give him a welcome.
“I tried to get here last night, but the strap of my shoe broke, and as I sank in over my knees, I knew that it was not safe to try.” Don was modestly apologetic, but Sophy cried out in horror that he should have even thought of risking his life in such a fashion.
“Father was out,” said Don. “He was called to a woman who was very ill on the other side of the Ridge. He did not get home until dawn this morning, and then Nathan Gittins came for him to go over to their place and have a look at that boy, Reggie Furness. Nearly starved the poor kid has been, I should fancy, since Mose Paget has been away. He has been living on in their shack alone—‘doing for himself’ he called it; ‘doing without’ would be a better way of expressing it, I fancy. He fainted whilst he was doing chores at Gittins’ place yesterday, and Galena put him to bed there. He didn’t get better as she hoped, and was off his head a good bit in the night, and she was so scared about him that she sent Nathan to get Father first thing this morning.”
“When is Mose coming back?” asked Sophy, who was making fresh coffee for her brother, whilst Pam fried bacon at the stove.
“When he is better, I suppose,” replied Don. “He has had a near squeak for his life, I should fancy, and it will take him a little while to get over it. Reggie will be all right now he is with the Gittins, and Galena will not let him go until Mose comes home. She is real kind-hearted, only I always find that a little of her goes a long way; but she means all right, and that is the chief thing. Here is your letter, sis, and such a fat one! An industrious fellow is George, though it beats me what he can find to say!”
Sophy took the letter with a look of positive rapture on her face, and retired to the bedroom, where the fire was not yet out, to read it in peace. This was just what Don wanted, and had counted upon. He liked to talk to Pam best when no one else was by. But this morning she was abstracted and rather dull, a wonderful thing for her. Don thought perhaps it was because there were no letters for her, and he hastened to cheer her by saying he did not believe the English mail was in, for they had said at the post office that no European letters had been received.