“Oh!” said Bess again.
Something in her voice touched the warm-hearted Angelina. She crossed the room and put her arm about the younger girl.
“My dear,” she said, “I’m not going to leave you. I’m much too fond of you. And—if you don’t mind my saying so—I really do think you need somebody cheerful here. Alan said it was absolutely my duty to teach you to laugh. He thinks—”
“It’s getting late, Angelina,” said Bess. “Let’s start!”
It was getting late, because Angelina had been suddenly inspired to finish a drawing after lunch, and it was after three before they set off for the village. When they had bought all the holly they could carry, and turned toward home, it was beginning to grow dark.
It was a bleak and bitter day. The wind was against them now—a savage wind that brought tears to their eyes. With their heads down against it, they went along the desolate road, their numb hands clasping the prickly holly, their numb feet suffering cruelly from the ruts frozen as hard as iron.
They came to the foot of the long hill—and how long it looked, that treeless road, going steeply up to meet the wild, dark sky!
“It’ll be—better—going down!” Bess shouted against the gale.[Pg 501]
“Much!” cried Angelina. “And—I love Christmas!”
Bess could have kissed her for those gallant words. The good will she felt for her companion actually seemed to warm her, and she began the ascent doggedly. Shoulder to shoulder, on they went, nearer and nearer to home. They reached the top of the hill, where the wind was incredibly fierce, and—