"Well, I vow I hardly know. One thing first, anyhow—we must get Mrs. Durham and the kids into the warm waiting-room, and then look after your traps."
The room was already crowded, but we squeezed them in, white from scarcely more than a moment's exposure to the storm. Then we took hold and gave the deck-hands a lift with my baggage, Merton showing much manly spirit in his readiness to face the weather and the work. My effects were soon piled up by themselves, and then we held a council.
"Mrs. Durham'll hardly want to face this storm with the children," began Mr. Jones.
"Are you going home?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. I'd rather travel all night for the sake of being home in the morning."
"To tell the truth I feel the same way," I continued, "but reason must hold the reins. Do you think you could protect Mrs. Durham and the children from the storm?"
"Yes, I think we could tuck 'em in so they'd scarcely know it was snowin', and then we could sled your things up in the mornin'. 'Commodations on the landin' to-night will be pretty crowded."
"We'll let her decide, then."
When I explained how things were and what Mr. Jones had said, she exclaimed, "Oh, let us go home."
How my heart jumped at her use of the word "home" in regard to a place that she had never seen. "But, Winifred," I urged, "do you realize how bad a night it is? Do you think it would be safe for Mousie?"